446 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



[Deo. 29, 1887. 



HUNTING THE COUGAR IN TEXAS. 



JANTJAEY 12, 1882, found me in Fort Davis, Texas, 

 where T had come in the interest of a land company, 

 who owned a large tract of land a few miles from that 

 place. Fort Davis is pleasantly situated in Presidio county, 

 about forty miles from the Rio Grande, and has an eleva- 

 tion of about 4,000ft. above sea level. In 1882 El Paso 

 was the nearest railroad station. The post was garrisoned 

 by several companies of the First Infantry and two com- 

 panies of the Tenth Cavalry, colored— "buffalo soldiers" 

 the Indians called them. My companion was Clark M., a 

 civil engineer, and as keen a sportsman as ever stood in 

 shoe leather. We had nothing to do, and used to spend 

 considerable time looking at guard mounting and the 

 various drills and parades that make up a soldier's exist- 

 ence. Time was hanging heavily on our hands, and 

 Clark declared that he would stagnate entirely if some- 

 thing exciting did not turn up before long. 



One morning while we were eating breakfast, I called 

 Clark's attention to two pack mules that had just passed 

 our adobe hut completely loaded down with venison. 

 Without waiting to swallow his coffee he put out after 

 the man who was driving the mule. In the course of the 

 forenoon he came back and said he had interviewed the 

 owner of the pack outfit and found out that his name was 

 Hank Brown, that he was a professional hunter and had 

 helped to exterminate the last big herd of buffalo that 

 ever entered Texas. He also said that the venison we 

 had seen was of blacktail deer, and had been killed at a 

 place called the Pinery, about fifty miles from Fort Davis, 

 and that the deer were thick there; black bear were 

 plenty also in season. Old Hank told him that there was 

 a Mexican lion there which left a track as large as a frying- 

 pan. 



At the word lion I was all attention, for if there was 

 anything that I had an itching desire to kill it was a 

 cougar. I had been in Texas over a year and had spent 

 about three months of that time hunting, but as yet I had 

 never been able to set my eyes on a Mexican Hon. I had 

 hunted over ground on which they were supposed to be 

 plenty and had seen any number of fresh signs and tracks, 

 but never a cougar. I started out to interview Brown at 

 once. He proved to be a pleasant plain-spoken man. He 

 said that judging from signs there were quite a number 

 of cougars at the Pinery, but that one of them left the 

 largest track that he had ever seen, and added that he 

 spent forty years in Texas and Mexico. If my friend 

 and I wished to go out there and hunt he would be glad 

 to share his camp with us, and he expected to start back 

 next morning. "It is fifty-four miles from here to Pinery 

 by the wagon road, but I can take you there in twenty- 

 two miles across a mountain trail that I know," he said. 

 ' 'I don't say you can get a shot at one of those cougars, 

 but they are plenty out there and you might try your 

 luck. I don't know of a better place." 



Now, I had nothing in particular to keep me at Fort 

 Davis, and my only reason for staying there was because 

 of the daily mail and the consideration that fresh beef 

 could always be had, and so I concluded to go out for a 

 week and try my Juck. The next morning at 9 o'clock 

 found us lashing the last box on one of Brown's mules, 

 who stood quietly enough while the operation was going 

 on, but as soon as it was finished and his blinds were 

 taken off he laid down and tried to roll his load off. A 

 few hard kicks from Brown soon brought him to all-fours 

 again. There is something very peculiar about a pack 

 mule; try to pack one without putting on blinds and he 

 will kick twenty feet high: put on the hlinds and he is as 

 gentle as Mary's lamb. 



When I first began to camp out on hunting trips (that 

 was in '71), I thought the proper thing was to work hard, 

 live plainly and rough it all around, but I have changed 

 since then, and while I do not believe in carrying a full- 

 length mirror, as Gen. Sheridan and the late President 

 Arthur did on their Yellowstone trip, I believe in taking 

 everything that will conduce to your comfort if you can 

 carry it, even then you can rough it to your heart's con- 

 tent, if you are far from civilization. My camp mattress 

 was the result of several experiments. A bed of pine- 

 needles or fir is all right, if you have time to make it (it 

 takes an artist to make a good one) and have no objection 

 to having your blankets spoiled by pitch: but a good 

 camp mattress is all ready to receive your frame as soon 

 as you unpack it. I had a bed sack made of stout tick- 

 ing, 32in. wide and 76in. long. In this I put lOlbs. of 

 cotton batting and then had it tied the same as a regular 

 mattress. I then had a piece of canvas stitched on the 

 bottom, the full length of the bed, to protect it from 

 arrow-grass, sand-burrs and cuts. The result was a com- 

 fortable bed, one on which I have slept for three months 

 at a time in perfect comfort. All you have to do is sun 

 it now and then and pound it with a club if it gets hard. 



In these days of canned fruits and preserved comesti- 

 bles, there is no need of any one going hungry in camp. 

 I have lived on rusty bacon, hard bread and coffee for a 

 month at a time, but I confess to a weakness for a well- 

 supplied table and good living in camp and elsewhere. 

 All points of the compass contribute to satisfy a camper's 

 appetite. We had canned fruit from San Francisco, 

 tomatoes from Baltimore, corn from Portland, Me., flour 

 from St. Paul, maple syrup from Saxons River, Vt., 

 chocolate from Boston, canned salmon from Oregon, and 

 last but not least, Borden's "caw" from New York; and 

 what a boon that same "caw" has been to the pioneer, 

 the hunter, the camper and the ranchman. I verily be- 

 lieve that if all of Borden's empty milk cans west of the 

 Mississippi were collected in one pile it would form a 

 mountain higher than Mount Washington. 



Clark rode his black broncho Nap, I my mule Rose. I 

 have tried both mules and horses since I have been in 

 Texas, and have found the mule to be superior at every 

 point for roughing it. They will travel further in a day 

 than a horse in this warm climate, are surer footed, will 

 do longer without water, will thrive where a horse would 

 grow thin, and are easier to ride as a general thing. 



I have always made it a point on all my hunting trips 

 to carry two rifles if possible, and on this expedition 

 I took my Winchester, model of 1870 (.45-75-350). and my 

 Borchardt Sharps (.45-100-550). It is not very pleasant to 

 be hunting 50 or 100 miles from nowhere with only one 

 gun, and have that one break, I was told when I bought 

 my Winchester that the .75-350 model was "no good," 

 that the bottle-necked cartridges could not be depended 

 upon, and that they would explode and ruin both myself 

 and gun; and there were lots of other direful predictions, 

 none of which came to pass. I bought my gun in 1877 



and used it until 1883. In that time I fired over 8,000 

 shots from it, and never met with a single mishap, not 

 even a miss-fire, nor did I ever spend a single cent for 

 repairs on the gun. I placed it in honorable retirement 

 some four years ago, and there are memories and associ- 

 ations connected with it that I would not exchange for a 

 dozen cases of any guns manufactured. I never used a 

 re-loaded shell, nor would I use one under any circum- 

 stances in a magazine gun; better spend a few dollars for 

 ammunition and be on the safe side. It is a very easy 

 thing to lose an eye or a hand, but it cannot be replaced 

 again. When carrying two guns I carry my Sharps in a 

 scabbard slung under my right leg, and my Winchester 

 across the pommel of the saddle. 



We finally got started about 10 o'clock: and a beautiful 

 day it was, just warm enough to comfortable, the sun 

 shining brightly, and not a single cloud in the sky, one 

 even tinted vast dome of light blue. "Good luck to you!" 

 shouted Capt. Bates, of the First Infanty, as we rode 

 away. He was a keen sportsman as well as a genial com- 

 panion, and has since crossed over the dark and silent 

 river that has few terrors for the good. We fouud a fair 

 road for about ten miles; then we took the trail, Brown 

 first, then the two pack mules, Clark next, and I brought 

 up the rear, Clark was jubilant and put in the time 

 singing and trying to get on a wager with me that he 

 would kill the first deer. Fourteen miles from the post 

 we came in sight of some pine timber, as fine as I have 

 ever seen. We rode three miles further — and very rough 

 riding it was— when I noticed something moving about 

 in a deep ravine to my right. It only required a second 

 look to resolve that something into a deer. A low hist to 

 Rose, who stopped in her tracks and never moved a mus- 

 cle, and I was off, Winchester in hand. The deer was 

 beiowme and between three and four hundred yards 

 away. I kept well up on the side of the ravine and 

 worked my way slowly along, now slipping from bush 

 to bush, now crawling along on all-fours where there 

 was no underbrush, keeping an eye on the deer all the 

 while. 



Here we are at last behind a small tree and within a 

 hundred and fifty yards of the deer, which, all uncon- 

 scious of his danger, is quietly feeding. The Winchester 

 is quickly brought up — and what a thrill of expectation 

 passes through "the body of the true sportsman when he 

 commences to sight— a coarse sight is taken, and crash 

 goes the bullet. Too high, for the dust rises above the 

 deer, which is looking wildly around for the occasion of 

 all this disturbance. A finer sight next time. Too low, 

 and the deer having caught sight of the smoke is off up 

 the side of the ravine. The rifle speaks again, but on 

 goes the deer. Once more we look through the sights, 

 for the gun has never left our shoulder since the first 

 shot, and after aiming carefully, let her go. One mighty 

 bound, two or three short leaps, and the deer totters and 

 falls. The game is ours at last. I crossed over to where 

 it lay and found a fine buck. I had just finished cutting 

 his throat when Clark came up, or rather down, on a run. 

 "By Jove! you did it in fine shape. I thought by the 

 way you were shooting that there was a whole drove of 

 them', and thought I might get a shot," he said. "Let 

 me dress him." And whipping out his knife be had him 

 dressed in about three minutes. "Any fool can kill a 

 deer, but it takes a wise man to dress one. Well, here, 

 take my gun, and I will carry him up to the trail}" and 

 with no exertion at all he threw the deer on his back and 

 started up the hill. Brown had come back with the 

 mules, and we tied the deer on top of one of the packs 

 and started on. 



"This is the Pinery," said Brown, as we rode in sight of 

 a soldier's camp two 'hours later, "and that is the camp 

 of Company C of the First Infantry. They are out here 

 getting out logs and running a sawmill, and they seem 

 to like it first-rate." As we rode by the camp, a fine- 

 looking sergeant asked us if we had come out to hunt. 

 "If you have, you have struck the right spot," he said, 

 "I have been all over the West and I never saw deer so 

 plenty ancVtame as they are here. I am in charge of the 

 choppers, and we were felling a big pine up on the side 

 of the mountain a few days ago when five deer came up 

 within ten rods of us and watched us until the tree fell, 

 when they broke and ran." 



We rode on about three miles and came to Brown's 

 camp. It consisted of a single wall tent, pitched on a 

 small flat spot on the hillside, within 40ft. of a spring of 

 the best water I ever tasted in the Southwest. The view 

 was grand, and a finer spot for a camp I had never seen. 

 I had brought my own wall tent, and Clark and I pro- 

 ceeded to pitch it. 



I know there are hundreds of readers of Forest and 

 Stbeam who can give me any number of points about 

 camping out and camping equipage: but the number of 

 campers increases with every year, and for their benefit 

 I am going to describe my tent and offer a few sugges- 

 tions. When I first came to Texas I bought an ordinary 

 wall tent, with a 3ft. wall and two flies, all made of 12oz. 

 ducking. The tent was 7x9ft. One of the flies we used 

 over the tent; the other was used as an awning in front. 

 Never buy an A-tent if you can afford to get a wall. The 

 wall will be more comfortable, more roomy, cooler in 

 summer, drier in wet weather, and better in every respect. 

 To put my poles in shape to pack, I had both of the up- 

 rights and the ridge pole sawed apart in the center. In 

 one piece I had a blacksmith bore a hole and drive in an 

 iron pin Gin., the pin being a foot long and just under a 

 half inch in diameter. In the other part I had a hole 

 bored and a piece of gas pipe 6in. long driven in, thus 

 forming a socket for the iron pin of the other part. Then 

 I had a heavy iron ferrule put on each part of the uprights, 

 but none on' the ridge pole. My tent pins were of iron, 

 six l4in. pins for the bottom and six 2ft. pins for the 

 wall guys. Wooden pins are a delusion and a snare; it is 

 not a pleasant thing to have them break one after the 

 other when you are trying to drive them in the rocky 

 ground, while the heavens are the color of an ink bottle 

 and the first big drops are splashing down. Then, again, 

 a wooden pin is twice as hard as an iron one to pull up, 

 which counts when you change camp often. I had made 

 another shelter or dog tent, which, I think, was much 

 superior to the shelter tent used by the U. S. Cavalry. 

 To pitch a soldier's shelter tent you must have a ridge 

 pole or a rope to support the center. I bought a piece of 

 canvas" (8oz.) 8ft. long and Oft. wide, and sewed an iron 

 ring in each corner, in each ring I tied a piece of rope 

 2ft. long. I then had two iron pins 24in. long and two 

 16in. long made, with a ring on top of each one. To pitch 

 the tent, drive pins the proper distance apart, long ones 



at head, short ones at foot; tie canvas to them, draw 

 tight and ditch, and there you are. It is a simple thing 

 to pitch a tent properly, but few can do it. Spread tent 

 on ground, draw out corners, put in the ridge pole and 

 and put the uprights in place, then drive the center pin 

 in front and put both loops over it, then drive the corner 

 pins, stretching the tent tight before each one. Then let 

 one man crawl in Under tent and raise the near upright, 

 the other one stay out in front and raise the front one, 

 and presto! the tent is pitched, though the wind be blow- 

 ing a gale. 



We pitched our tent, and after supper I tried to draw 

 Brown out in regard to himself, but he might have posed 

 for the model silent hunter. He said he had fought 

 under Houston in Texas, and his fife had been a roving 

 one. I asked him if he did not feel sorry that the buffalo 

 were nearly all gone, buthesaid no, that the cattle would 

 have driven them from their feeding grounds, and that 

 it was better to kill them than have them starve to 

 death. "I have seen hundreds of thousands of them in 

 my time and have killed thousands of them for their 

 skins, and I would do it again if I had a chance, but the 

 most reckless killing that I ever saw done was by sports- 

 men from the East. They would not even take off the 

 skins. I can tell you one tiling about the buffalo, that is 

 that one of them would destroy more pasture than four 

 cows. Come, let us hang up that deer, and if Mr. Cougar 

 finds it he will eat his fill and drag the rest off and bury 

 it, then he will be your meat." 



We hung the deer on a small tree, in a ravine about 

 sixty rods from camp. Brown's idea was to let the 

 cougar drag the deer and cover it up; he would trail the 

 beast to where he had hid it, we would then take turns 

 in watching the spot and would stand a fair show of get- 

 ting his highness. 



I was up bright and early next morning and visited 

 the deer, but it had not been touched. Clark went out 

 and killed two deer in the forenoon and I laid around 

 camp all day and read in Emerson's "Essays" and. 

 Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." "What do you do with 

 all your venison?" 1 asked Brown. "I sell the forequart- 

 ers to the Mexicans at Fort Davis; the hindquarters I 

 smoke and dry and sell in San Antonio; there is a good 

 demand for them." 



I took my Winchester in the evening and traveled 

 around for cougar signs, but I only found a few tracks 

 several days old near a small stream a mile from 

 camp. 



The next morning we were up bright and early. Clark 

 intended to hunt and I wanted to visit a high peak four 

 miles away. Capt. Livermore,U.S. Engineers, and his men 

 were said to be the only party that had ever been on top 

 of it. I had a hard climb, but finally reached the top and 

 was amply repaid, for I had one of the finest views that I 

 have ever seen. Mt. Quitman, over eighty miles away, 

 looked as if it was not thirty. I had a good* field glass but 

 it seemed to me that I could see it almost as distinctly 

 with my naked eye. On my way back I ran across a 

 coyote. I had nothing but a Colts army pistol, and he 

 was fully 150yds. away, but I gave him a few shots which 

 increased his pace wonderfully. They are so sneaking 

 that I always give them a shot, no matter how far away 

 they may be. 



Clark came Mm ping into camp about an hour after me, 

 his clothes were all torn and bloody and his face all cut 

 and scratched. "What the nation have you been doing?" 

 I said to him. "I shot at a deer's head over on the other 

 side of the mountain and as he fell I supposed I had killed 

 Mm; but when I got to him he was trying to get up. In- 

 stead of shooting him again I caught him by the hind leg, 

 like a fool, and was trying to hold him until I got a chance 

 to cut his throat. My grabbing him seemed to be just the 

 stimulant the thing needed, for he gave me a blow that 

 made me see stars, and then be started down the mountain 

 with me clinging to him. First I was on top then the 

 deer; then we would both be on the ground at the same 

 time; sometimes we got so tangled up that there seemed 

 to be three or four deer and men mixed together. I 

 hung on to that fellow until I lost the last bit of breath 

 that I had, and then I was forced to let him go. I weigh 

 1901bs. and am called a strong man. I would have laughed 

 at any one if they had told me that I could not hold 

 down a badly wounded deer, but I have changed my 

 mind." 



During the night I was awakened by hearing some 

 strange noise, and stepped out of the tent to learn what 

 it was. I could find nothing, but if I shall live to be 100 

 years old the beauty of that night will not fade from my 

 memory. Not a breath of air was stirring, and it was 

 light enough to read a newspaper, while that light-blue 

 dome overhead was so thickly studded with stars tha 

 they seemed to crowd each other. Not a sound broke the 

 silence of the midnight air, and as I stood there and 

 drank in the beauty of the quiet scene those superb lines 

 of "Byron's Siege of Corinth" came running through my 

 mind: 



"Tie midnight on the mountains brown; 



The cold round moon phines deeply down, 



Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 



Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 



Bespangled with those isles of light. 



So mildly spiritually bright. 



Who ever gazed upon them shining 



And turned to earth without repining, 



Nor wished for wings to flee away 



And mix with their eternal ray? 

 Who is there with a spark of real manhood in his breast 

 that does not like to camp in the woods and enjoy nature 

 in all her moods ? If you wish to know her thoroughly 

 you must get close to her. I recollect one time when I 

 was hunting in Arizona, not far from the San Carlos 

 reservation, with that wily and savage chief Bonita. We 

 had succeeded in reaching the top of a high mountain 

 after a stiff climb, and a scene of remarkable beauty lay 

 spread before us. The swift running, winding Gila River 

 flowed almost at our feet, and its course could be traced 

 for miles, though we lost sight of the stream itself, by 

 the green cottonwoods that lined its banks. The valley 

 below us was filled with bright-colored flowers, and the 

 soft June breeze wafted their perfume to us; and there 

 came, too, the drowsy hum of thousands of bees and 

 insects feeding on them. Bonita looked for a moment 

 and then said, "Me like it." This shows that a beautiful 

 landscape impresses the savage as well as the civilized 

 being. 



I hunted but little, though Clark and Brown were out 

 every day, Clark after deer, Brown looking for cougar 



