5 54 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Dec. 38, 1895. 



paces off. He was broadside on, but was intently looking 

 down the trail and wondering what the distant noises 

 might mean. 



I have stood in front of the bear cages in the London 

 Zoo and Central Park andread: " Ursushombilis— habi- 

 tat North America," but here in front of me, a few paces 

 off, on a sunny slope of the Rocky Mountains, stood the 

 biggest old brown-gray silver tip that ever turned over 

 stones for grubs or scraped off "service berries" in Mon- 

 tana. I was a tenderfoot, a pilgrim, and can I be blamed 

 for wondering what was the proper method of procedure? 

 I slipped the glove off my right hand and reached for the 

 gun; then, what to do with the horse? To turn and half 

 gasp to Jack Monroe, who was only a few yards behind, 

 "There's a bear," was the work of a few 'seconds only, 

 but it was long enough to call the attention of the bear to 

 us, and also to show his presence to the hunter. I was 

 told to drop off the horse and "pump into him," and I 

 tried to obey orders, but by the time I was ready to shoot 

 the bear was disappearing over the crest of the hill. I 

 was ordered to follow, and we two left the trail in hot 

 pursuit. 



Jack Monroe had brought his two dogs with him. They 

 were nondescript in breed, black in color and of medium 

 size. The older one, Prince, was well scarred about 

 the face from previous encounters with mountain lions 

 and bears, while Bummer understood deer stalking, but 

 had never had a scrap with a bear. On the summit of the 

 hill we found a thick growth of quaking asp and pineB, 

 and the dogs took different trails. We picketed our 

 horses and spent a profitless and uncomfortable five hours 

 in following trails of bears, which crisscrossed the timber 

 in every direction. At 3 o'clock it began snowing heavily, 

 and cold, wet and disappointed we mounted our horses 

 and turned our faces up the stream and arrived in camp 

 at dark. Here we recounted our experience, of which 

 the rest knew nothing, and I had tbe satisfaction of being 

 told that I did right in not shooting, for had I wounded 

 the creature he might have stampeded the whole train on 

 the narrow trail. 



Tbe following morning I was awakened by Jack Mon- 

 roe at daybreak. I was stiff and sore. My enthusiasm 

 had cooled, but the few sparks left were fanned into 

 flame by Jack Monroe's positive assertion that we would 

 have a grizzly by noon. Upon tbe ground the snow lay 

 soft and feathery to the depth of 5 in. Jack Monroe said 

 that meant that we had a "cinch" on the bears. So after 

 a cup of coffee and some bacon and bread, we saddled 

 and started down to the scene of yesterday's exploits, four 

 miles below. Before starting Jack Monroe went over to 

 the Indians' tepee and borrowed one of the antiquated car- 

 bines, "just to have something to carry." The snow was 

 still falling in a desultory sort of way and the scenery was 

 magnificent. Our camp was at the Swift Current Falls, 

 at the base of the towering Show Mountain. Away up on 

 its perpendicular face we saw a flock of seven goats, seven 

 white specks threading their way along its sheer sides. 

 The snow clung to every leaf and twig and came filtering 

 down one's back in a chilly kind of way, but this could 

 not keep us from enjoying the scene. 



Before leaving camp we were told that two of the 

 Indians, excited by our bear story of the night before, 

 had gone down ahead on their ponies to see what they 

 could do. Shortly after leaving the camp we came across 

 two fool hens (Franklin's grouse). They flew up into the 

 low quaking asps, and Jack Monroe, after two or three 

 trials, knocked one down with his rope. We left the trail 

 a mile above where the bear was seen the day before, and 

 clambered up the snowy hills on our horses, and across 

 coulees and through timber, where I thought it impossible 

 for man or beast to travel. Jack Monroe told me it was 

 easy going. As we sat on the summit of a hill laying out 

 our course, I descried far up on the mountain side a black 

 object emerging from the timber and immediately 

 another. Outlined against the snow we easily made out 

 our Indian friends on horseback. They seemed somewhat 

 excited and when they saw us began to make signs. 

 They signaled us to come to, them. They did this 

 by riding their horses in short circles. Suddenly 

 one of them disappeared, then the other; and floating 

 down the mountain side and echoed from the opposite 

 hills came the crack of their rifles. Five shots followed in 

 quick succession and then the Indians appeared, riding to 

 and fro. Their figures were sharply silhouetted against 

 the white and distant background, and we sat motionless, 

 awaiting an explanation. A moment later we saw a 

 large black object emerge from the timber above them, 

 and, unseen by them, gallop up the slope and disappear 

 over the snow-capped summit beyond. Jack Monroe 

 waited no longer, but calling "There's our meat," started 

 to ascend the mountain k side on the full run. We floun- 

 dered along for 100yds. — two men, two horses, two dogs 

 —when Jack Monroe (in the lead) suddenly halted, and 

 gazing down in front of his horse, remarked that we need 

 go no further. 



I followed his eyes, and even a tyro could see where 

 one or more animals had swept a path in the snow at 

 right angles to our course. It looked to me as though 

 some one had swept the snow aside with a broom, and in 

 the path were footprints. Jack Monroe said it was an old 

 she bear with two yearling cubs. I could not make all 

 this out, but I saw that the claw marks of one set of feet 

 were much larger than the others. Of course, the bear 

 we had seen far up on the mountain side, running toward 

 Kennedy's Creek, was abandoned, and the dogs immedi- 

 ately took the new trail. Prince went slowly. Bum 

 wanted to hurry on. So did I. The trail was bo fresh 

 that visions of grizzly bear filled my brain. Jack Monroe 

 called Bum a fool, and told him that he would get enough 

 bear before night, and to go slow. His diagnosis and 

 prognosis were both right. The trail was very hot, and 

 after a few hundred yards turned into the timber. Jack 

 Monroe said that the timber was not a very large piece, 

 and that we should skirt it and find where the bears came 

 out, It would save time. Around it we went. It was 

 easy enough to see whether anything had come out. A 

 chipmunk track could easily have been followed in that 

 light snow. Having completed our circuit, we were sur- 

 prised to find that although three bears had entered the 

 piece, no bears had emerged. They were still inside. A 

 quarter mile square was approximately the size of the 

 cover. 



Jack Monroe made some remarks about the intelligence 

 of the bear, and after we had tied our horses and entered 

 the timber requested me to keep close to him and the dogs, 

 as he had no confidence in his popgun. 



The cover into which we plunged was of scrub pines, 



service berry and quaking asp trees. All was covered 

 with snow and very thick. Before going far we crossed 

 the trail of the bear family and slowly and silently fol- 

 lowed it. We followed it in and out, north and south. 

 We described circles and arcs of circles, triangles and 

 trapezoids. We came acrosB our own tracks and found 

 the bear tracks overlapping our own of twenty minutes 

 before. The bears were following us! After two hours 

 of weary work through the densest kind of cover my 

 wind was about gone and my muscles were refusing to 

 perform their functions. Only once Jack Monroe caught 

 sight of the old bear, just for an instant, but he- did not 

 shoot. At last tbe tracks led down the hill toward the 

 river, and soon we were folio wing as rapidly as the steep 

 and slippery ground would permit. The sun had come 

 out bright and warm, and the snow was melting fast. 

 Halfway down the hill the tracks separated — the old bear 

 keeping straight on and the cubs turning off to one side. 

 A halt was called and a very short and epigrammatic lec- 

 ture on the grizzly bear was given me by Jack Monroe. I 

 was about done up and decided to return to the horses 

 and to camp. Jack Monroe said that he was going to 

 follow the old bear a little further, but would be back in 

 fifteen minutes. After about a half hour I concluded to 

 try to find my way up the hill and to the horses. 



In this I was unsuccessful, and finally concluded that I 

 was lost. From an open spot, however, I could see the 

 Show Mountain, and knew that by keeping straight on I 

 must cross our morning's trail in the snow, and by fol- 

 lowing this in its devious windings must eventually come 

 upon the horses. A.cting on this plan, I finally found my- 

 self more dead than alive in the opening where the horses 

 were. Scarcely was I ready for the home journey, and 

 wondering where Jack Monroe could be, for it was now 

 nearly two hours since we parted, when a distant "pang" 

 away below in the valley told me that he was either en- 

 gaged in conflict or signaling. Something seemed to 

 tell me that the latter was the case, and I went to the crest 

 of the hill and fired a shot, which was answered at once, 

 and then a distant whoop was heard. I mounted and sat 

 waiting for Jack Monroe's coming. After ten minutes I 

 could see him toiling up the hill, and as he came nearer 

 I noticed that something was radically wrong with his 

 dogs. Prince was dragging his hindquarters in the snow 

 and lying down now and again, and Bum left a trail of 

 blood and seemed to have no tail worth apeaking of. 

 When within talking distance the following dialogue took 

 place: 



"What did you shoot your dogs for?" ' 

 "Hell, I-didn't shoot the dogs." 

 "What's the matter with them?" 



"I've had a scrap with that old bear and we've got to 

 get her." 



By this time he had got to me and was preparing to 

 mount his horse. 



Picking our way down the hillside, stumbling, slipping 

 and falling — tired to death, yet fired to renewed life by 

 what I heard — Jack Monroe told me his adventures as 

 follows: 



"When I left you, I followed the old gal's tracks down 

 to the river. Just before reaching it, I saw where one of 

 the cubs had rejoined the old one. I was interested in 

 the tricky intelligence of the old bear and determined to 

 follow on further. I waded the stream, the dogs swim- 

 ming, and took the trail on the other side. It led up the 

 mountain into the big timber, across that dead piece, and 

 up into the green timber beyond. I saw fresh signs of 

 moose, elk and blacktail, but kept on up and up until I 

 got about three-quarters of a mile above the river. The 

 trail was pretty hot and Prince kept close to me, but Bum 

 was generally behind. All of a sudden, and it was pretty 

 dark, I thought I saw a bear to my left about 20yds. 

 ahead. I raised my gun, and just as I did so the old she 

 one came out from a thick spot to my right. She was 

 upon her hindlegs, and I supposed after the dogs. I had 

 no time to think and blazed away. She dropped on all 

 fours with a growl and the dogs were on her. I did not 

 care for any more just then, and throwing my gun down, 

 I swarmed up a fir tree, the only one small enough to 

 climb. I don't know how it was, but I did the squirrel 

 act in great ehaps. I saw that Bum was at her head, and 

 Prince worrying her behind. She made one sharp snap 

 at Bum and off went his tail, and then with a quick turn 

 she caught Prince by the seat of his pants and both dogs 

 ran howling back into the forest. The old bear kind o' 

 winked at me and then trotted down the hill. Now she 

 is wounded and ugly and won't go far and we can get 

 her." 



Of course I agreed. By this time we were nearly down 

 to the river. We forded it on our horses, picketed them 

 on the opposite side and entered the dark and silent forest. 

 Everything since morning indicated that it was a toss up 

 whether we were hunting the grizzly bear or she was 

 hunting us. But at the time we did not think of any- 

 thing but the fact that we had here a foeman worthy of 

 our steel. That we had but one gun, that I was a tender- 

 foot and unused to "pumping into" things, that it was 

 foolhardy to the last degree to hunt a wounded grizzly 

 in thick timber, did not occur to us. 



Did you ever reach the point in hunting or tramping or 

 in any outdoor exercise when it seemed a physical im- 

 possibility to go further? When you could just, by great 

 exertion, and on the level, put one foot in front of the 

 other and keep on simply bacause there was something to 

 eat and a place to sleep at the other end of the line? This 

 was the way I felt before beginning to climb that moun- 

 tain side. But Jack Monroe is a most encouraging man 

 and I am a pliant branch, and after many stop3 to catch 

 my wind we finally reached the scene of the late en- 

 counter. It was indeed a dark spot. The giant trees 

 stood so thick that little or no snow had filtered through, 

 and the sunlight flecked the ground only at midday. 

 Down timber everywhere made the going difficult, and 

 tbe querulous cry of the Canada jay or meat hawk and 

 the sighing of the wind through the pines made the whole 

 scene seem like a Mayne Raid tale to me. Corroborative 

 evidence of Jack Monroe's story was plainly to be seen in 

 the torn-up ground, the blood of the canines, the tail of 

 Bum and the trail of bruin down the slope. The dogs 

 had followed us, and our hope was that Prince could be 

 persuaded to drag his mutilated carcass along the trail to 

 our quarry. Then for the first time Jack Monroe told me 

 of the danger of our undertaking and gave me my in- 

 structions. 



"That old bsar is ugly. She is after us now just as 

 mujh as we are after her. The first you see of her will 

 be when she comes straight at us from some dark spot. 



My gun is no good; you must do the shooting. I think 

 Prince will show us where she is, but he won't do any 

 fighting. Now keep close to me, not more than a few 

 feet away. Look at every piece of fallen timber, every 

 bit of undergrowth, carefully, and when Prince stops, 

 you stop." 



I thought Jack Monroe was over careful, but I obeyed 

 orders. So we started. Poor old Prince had to be coaxed 

 a good deal before he would go on, and he kept very close 

 to us, looking back occasionally as much as to say, "Mas- 

 ter, must I go on?" Bum was not in it. Most of the time 

 he was lying down 50yds. behind and licking his tailless 

 rear. Not a word spoken. I looked every log and bush 

 out of countenance. After a time I imagined I saw a 

 flock of grizzlies behind every stump and tree. So we 

 crept along, and I began to think it was all for naught. 

 We had descended into a narrow basin. The trees were 

 a little more open in its center and snow had collected 

 there. The dog, about 15yds. ahead and going very slow- 

 ly, had turned sharply to the left, and Jack Monroe had 

 just stepped off a little snow-covered bench down about 

 6in. and I turned with him, standing 3 or 4ft. 

 to his left. I saw Jack Monroe turn suddenly toward 

 me and heard him say, "There." I heard old Prince 

 growl and I saw him turn back, and I heard a roar and 

 saw a mass of brown -gray hair, preceded by some glisten- 

 ing teeth, springing from the foot of a giant fir tree and 

 making directly for us. The bear was not more than 

 twenty steps away at the start. There was no time to 

 get "rattled." I heard Jack Monroe's popgun go pang, 

 but with no result, and I raised my Winchester, shotgun 

 fashion, and fired. 



The bear fell with a crash as though struck by light- 

 ning, and for an inappreciable interval I thought myself 

 one of the greatest of heroes. But she had hardly struck 

 the ground before she was on her feet again and coming 

 at us, I fired a second shot into an enormous ball of hair 

 less than 10ft. away. She was on us. Jack Monroe, 

 who had fired only once, tried to dodge backwai-d. 



His heels caught on the bench 

 ■■HHMH|HBn behind him and he fell flat on 

 ■H|| his back, and I saw him poking the 

 muzzle of his short gun into the 

 mm grizzly's mouth, evidently trying 

 I to fire, while she tried to slap him 

 with her ugly paws. 

 Jack Monroe did not preserve 

 ! an imperturbable calm, but made 

 ,'- ; *" i the forest aisles ring with fervid 



| requests, coupled with the names 

 of saints and others, to 1 'pump into 

 her." I did pump a last shot be- 

 | fore the dying bruin had done 

 more than mental injury. It was 

 at the closest range, and the noble 

 old beast quivered and sank slowly 

 backward, down and down, until 

 her massive head lay pillowed 

 in the snow while her wicked 

 claws were only a short 12in. from 

 Jack Monroe's precious carcass. 

 In trying to dodge he had turned 

 the tail op the dog. the oldf ashioned safety latch on 

 hfo borrowed gun and it had placed 

 him out of the fight after his first shot. Examination 

 showed that my first shot had cut the base of the heart 



THE HEAD OF THE BEAR. 



in two and torn the aorta, the largest blood vessel of the 

 body, into shreds. This beast [proved to be a 5 or 6 year 

 old silver tip, with the grayish collar— the most intelli- 

 gent and dangerous of her kind, Morton Grinnkll. 



MALISEETS AND MOHAWKS. 



The Maliseets of the St. John River have many tradi- 

 tions respecting the Mohawks, who were their most 

 deadly enemies in bygone times. Many years since I 

 was standing in a country shop in New Brunswick, 

 where there were some squaws waiting to be served ; 

 they had with them a little boy, who called his mother's 

 attention to a colored engraving, which, serving as an 

 advertisement for Wright's Indian pills, represented an 

 Indian warrior all painted and plumed. I heard the 

 child say to his mother in a whisper, "Mohawk." "What 

 is that?" I asked him. His reply was, "Bad Indian; kill 

 you and eat you." 



Some years ago a party of Mohawks came down the St. 

 John River and slaughtered great quantities of moose on 

 the head of Tobique. The Maliseets living on the mouth 

 of that river made great threats, but took very good care 

 to keep out of the reach of the Mohawks. 



Mr. A. Beveridge, who had a shop some years since on 

 the Upper St. John, about four miles below the mouth of 

 the St. Francis, told me that two or three Maliseet squaws 

 were seated in his store one day, when a tall, fine-looking 

 Indian walked in to make some purchases. As he passed 

 the squaws he cast a contemptuous glance on them, at 

 which Mr. B. said these women actually shivered with 

 fear. "What is the matter?" said Mr. B., "don't be 

 afraid." 



"Mohawk!" was he trembling reply, and it was a real 

 Mohawk who was descending the St. John in his canoe 

 and who had come to Mr. B.'s shop to replenish his store 

 of food. 



The Maliseets yet think that the Mohawks are still peer- 

 ing at them out of the darkness of the forests with a view 

 tj doing them some injury, and they have told me that 

 their women have had their baskets of food stolen from 

 them by these Mohawks when the former were picking 

 berries. 



