84 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



A WEEK IN BEAR CREEK VALLEY, 



TT is a terribly rough day out of doors. The snow flies 

 JL in blinding flurries while the wind roars among the 

 branches, whistles around the corners and beats in surg- 

 ing waves against the house, reminding me very vividly 

 of my experience in a mining cabin among the moun- 

 tains of Colorado, and that reminds me of the killing of 

 my first mule deer, or in fact my first deer of any kind. 

 I had seen wild deer previously, but had never been able 

 to call them mine. Four young, at least not very old, 

 men, of whom I was one, owned a hole in the ground 

 called a mine. We didn't call it mine, but ours, and 

 many weary hours have we spent in that shaft digging 

 prospective wealth. It was 3,000 feet higher than George- 

 town, which was claimed with much pride by her citi- 

 zens to be the highest mining town in the world, being 

 about 9,000 feet above the sea. We generally went up to 

 the mine Monday morning, taking "grub" for the week, 

 and retnrning Saturday to slick up for Sunday and be 

 civilized again. Of course there were a great many who 

 were compelled to "back" it, and naturally we improved 

 our weekly holiday in fraternizing in our dens, where we 

 smoked, exchanged experiences or indulged in music. 

 Many of these "dens" were shaky cabins of one room, 

 built of rough boards battened, and when the wind de- 

 scended from the mountain tops and ran amuck down 

 the valley, everything rattled, and in winter discomfort 

 was uppermost. Many cabins were braced with trunks 

 of trees, and some anchored to the rock with iron rods. I 

 remember very well lying awake nearly all of one night 

 when the wind was high and howling, fearful that the 

 next wave would send us all flying, but before another 

 night came I had dragged two large pine saplings from 

 the mountain side and braced the cabin securely. 



Being naturally fond of hunting I had improved sev- 

 eral opportunities for short trips, killing grouse, squirrels 

 and rabbits, and once very foolishly following a "lion" 

 the better part of a day in the snow, armed with a dis- 

 reputable old carbine", the like of which I never saw 

 before or since. Fortunately I did not come up with the 

 beast. I had seen a deer or two, but got no shot. 



One night as three or torn- of us sat in a friend's cabin 

 smoking, the conversation turned on hunting and Rogers 

 said he would like to go over to Bear Creek Valley after 

 deer for a, week if he could find some one to accompany 

 him. I quickly replied that I was the "some one" he wa*s 

 probably in search of, but that I had no suitable gun, to 

 which he replied that if I wonld go ho would get me a 

 fine Henry rifle which was new and owned by an acquain- 

 tance from Boston, who, judging from what I saw of him 

 and from his appearance, was afraid to shoot his gun. 

 Tenderf eet were not infrequent in those days, who made 

 their appearance with valuable guns and belongings and 

 did most of their hunting around the billiard table. 

 Rogers was a companionable young man whom I had 

 known in the "States," but I had never suspected him of 

 a fondness for hunting, though I had known him to be 

 the dear's man. His appearance was decidedly distingue. 

 He was tall, well formed, black-eyed, and of dark com- 

 plexion with black mustache waxed a la Napoleon. He 

 was generally attired in a broad-brimmed felt hat, the 

 brim turned up on one side and down on the other; a 

 short coat of the shooting style; velveteen trousers tucked 

 into knee boots that shone from top to sole, and you 

 would have declared that the most of his blood was 

 Spanish. He had been sent out by the owners of the 

 Astor lode, lead, crevice, mine or hole in the ground, to 

 look after the same, and like many other ventures, the 

 output was not sufficiently large to worry the owners or 

 Rogers as to its disposition. 



Well, the gun being secured, much hunting talk in- 

 dulged in, preparations made, bright anticipations in- 

 dulged, the day set and a horse engaged at the livery 

 stable, one fine morning late in October found me with 

 my impedimenta prepared to mount. The broncho led 

 out for me looked gentle and docile enough, without an 

 undue amount of evil in his eye, but "put not your trust 

 in princes." I mounted and we moved off in a respect- 

 able manner, but just as I was getting settled in my sad- 

 dle the beast stopped without any apparent cause and 

 there was a decided and instantaneous upheaval. I took 

 in the situation necessarily. Fearful of need I had 

 buckled on a pair of wicked "Texas spurs with very sharp 

 rowels, and as we struck ground I sunk these rowels into 

 that beast with all the power at hand— or leg. There was 

 another ascension, a flying panorama of man, gun, rations, 

 blankets, etc., and we "hit the earth again with a demoral- 

 izing impact and more very vigorous rowel work. A third 

 time we left terra Jimia and a third time the spurs got in 

 their legitimate work, when the horse started down the 

 road in a business way as if it had suddenly dawned on 

 him that he had an urgent errand somewhere and had 

 wasted valuable time. As for me, "Barkis was willin'." 

 The fastenings had all held and nothing was lost except 

 time, and I hardly think that was lost, for the brute vexed 

 me no more. 



It was a glorious morning. Georgetown had hardly 

 waked. There was a suggestion of frost in the air which 

 was clear and still and of wonderful transparency. In 

 magnificent array on right, left and rear rose the moun- 

 tains, above which the sun would not show his face for 

 three or four hours. Afar up the mountain sides could 

 be seen here and there stretches of trail leading to mines, 

 the dumps of which were occasionally visible, while now 

 and then a cabin, perched against the rocks or showing 

 its face from among the pines, looked like a child's toy. 

 Wood slides appeared at intervals, down which, from the 

 upper heights, wood for use in the valley daily shot with 

 frightful speed, waking the hoarse echoes of the canons 

 and taking the final leap of 50 or 100 or more feet over 

 the sheer face of a rock wall, to crash in bruised and 

 splintered heaps at the base. Clear Creek, on my right, 

 kept me delightful company, and we ambled along 

 together until we reached the reduction works, a mile 

 below town, in which Rogers had a room and where I 

 was to breakfast with him. 



Breakfast was not ready, for the cook had slept late, but 

 he was already skirmishing with the frying pan and cof- 

 fee pot, and before long we had filled up. Rogers had 

 saddled up, and with pipes alight we rode off down the 

 valley in high feather. And was there not good reason? 

 We were young, strong and lusty. The morning was per- 

 fect. Our mount was good and the unspeakable delights 

 of the chase and exploration of new territory were before 

 us. Cause enough for exhilaration. 



The valley narrowed and widened as we rode, Clear 



Creek babbled and boiled at our side, or far below in 

 rocky gorges, while frequent tunnels in the rocky moun- 

 tain "sides, or sluice boxes and abandoned gulch mines 

 spoke of the greedy search for riches. Downieville, Mill 

 City and Fall River, with naught but its name to remind 

 one of the busy Eastern city, were passed, insignificant 

 places all, and about noon we reached Idaho Springs, 

 fourteen miles from Georgetown, where were and are 

 famous hot springs for the "healing of the nations," ac- 

 cording to the proprietors. Hot and cold springB, in close, 

 neighborly rivalry, pom* out their waters impregnated 

 with sulphur, soda, magnesia, iron and what not, for 

 which bathers pay their money and take their choice. 

 There was quite a good hotel here and a little hamlet, en- 

 livened daily by passage of stage to and from Denver, 

 and ox teams freighting to the mines. Our way left the 

 dusty valley road here, and after a short halt we turned 

 to the right and took the trail leading over the mountains 

 into Bear Creek Valley, a ride of eight miles over a hard 

 trail. After we had ridden well up the mountain side 

 we stopped for lunch, which being dispatched as we re- 

 clined under the pines by the side of the trail, I made a 

 few trial shots with my Henry, which I had never fired, 

 and I became, satisfied thai if a deer would stand still at 

 75yds. and allow me to choose my rest, he was my meat. 

 We mounted and rode on. The way became steeper and 

 the trail dimmer as we climbed "Old Chief," that, with 

 the "Squaw" and "Pappoose" (of which almost every 

 mountain region has a counterpart in name) kept silent 

 and eloquent company. Ere long we rode into snow and 

 the trail disappeared, but blazes guided us until we had 

 passed the crest and began our descent into the valley, of 

 which occasionally, between the trees, we had beautiful 

 glimpses. 



How impressive is a ride through a vast forest, far re- 

 moved from the busy haunts of man (sounds natural, eh?) 

 where the snow lies unbroken or otherwise on the ground. 

 A vast white waste stretches afar on every side (this is 

 not stretched). Vanishing vistas and tortuous aisles of 

 ermine are outlined by bare boles and asthmatic pines, 

 through whose shivering brandies soughs the breeze sou 

 by sou' west. Not a sound is visible. An awful stillness 

 pervades the circumambience. It is the stilliest kind of 

 stillness ever instilled or distilled, and like the man o'er- 

 come by influence of vinous fermentation, "Shoost as shtill 

 like he had a fit." You have heard of the "stilly night;" 

 well, the stilly day pushes it pretty close, along about dark. 

 As you note the dead bodies (ugh I) of the fallen monarchs 

 of the forest (familiar again) wrapped in their clinging 

 winding sheets, the goose flesh comes out all over you, 

 and at this funereal moment the only incense to be had 

 arises from the nostrils of your horse! Perchance, from 

 afar in the lonesomeness comes an unearthly sound, half 

 sob and half scream, like a wail of the lost (pat again) and 

 visions of savage beasts "dance through your mind." 

 Your hat begins to rise, and a spookiness begins to de- 

 velop, while the gooseflesh grows more prominent. But 

 it is only the limb of a giant impinging on another as 

 they scratch each other and give audible vent to their 

 enjoyment. Again silence reigns. What solitude is this! 

 How unlike the busy, bustling, boiling, banging, bood- 

 ling marts of trade. Scarce two points in common unless 

 mayhap it be the bears. Now the wind rises. Old Boreas 

 careers upon the — But hist! Hark! "Rogers, what is 

 yon delicate footprint on the snow foreninst ye? By the 

 jumping Jerboa, it is, it is, the outline of a deer's foot." 

 Sentiment to the winds. Forward! 



But we had no time to follow deer trail then, so we 

 followed our own, which zig-zagged down the mountain, 

 now on a bleak, wind-swept bit of barrenness and now wind- 

 ing through pleasant shaded vales, thickly carpeted and 

 shaded by dense pines, where pure spring wafer, cold and 

 sweet, bubbled up and ran off down to meet the waters 

 of Bear Creek far below. We passed a huge log bear 

 trap, tenantless now, but it was easy to see "with the 

 mind's eye, Horatio," a tremendous cinnamon pacing back 

 and forth in his massive prison endeavoring to lift the 

 huge logs that inclosed him. Toward sundown we rode 

 into the" valley, and turning to tire left wont down past a 

 ranch or two, and about dark pulled, up at our destina- 

 tion, the ranch of Mr. W. E. Sisty, where we received a 

 cordial welcome from mine host and Ids pleasant wife, 

 The horses were soon unsaddled, ablutions performed 

 and we were summoned to the cheerful board, the sum- 

 mons being obeyed without the necessity of a repetition. 

 I think I can see that table now, as we sat around it en- 

 joying the good things provided and talked of the pros- 

 pects for deer, trout, sheep or mayhap a grizzly or lion, 

 listening to tales of adventure and experience from our 

 host. With what delightful anticipation we drank it all 

 in with our coffee, eager for the morrow when we should 

 bowl over the watchful deer. After supper we seated 

 ourselves outside, where with pipes asmoke, we watched 

 the darkness settle down from the environing mountains 

 and the stars shine out "in quiet skies" as we laid our plans 

 for the coming day. It came, after a night of refreshing- 

 sleep, and after breakfast and directions from Mr. S.~, 

 Rogers and 1 set out on foot diagonally up the valley 

 toward a high ridge, down which led a deer trail, over 

 which deer passed frequently, crossing the valley to the 

 opposite mountain. 



We crossed Bear Creek, and after a short walk reached 

 a beautiful glade where the grass grew luxuriantly, and 

 noble pines at intervals stood looking down on a most 

 beautiful natural park. It was a charming spot, and 

 while I was slowly walking along admiring the loveliness 

 of the scenery, and thinking what a fine place it was to 

 knock over a deer, Rogers being on my right at a distance 

 of a hundred yards or so, I saw a movement ahead and a 

 little to my left where the ground sloped downward to a 

 little stream that flowed at the foot of the mountain. I 

 stopped instantly, dropped my gun from my shoulder to 

 a ready, and as I did so a doe walked up into view, took 

 a few steps forward, took a glance around, and then as if 

 satisfied with the outlook, began feeding. She was fol- 

 lowed in an instant by a fawn, then came another doe 

 and her fawn, followed by another deer that I supposed 

 was another doe, the distance being too great to distin- 

 guish clearly, and bringing up the rear was a lordly old 

 buck with a grand head. He took a long look around 

 and then all six strolled forward, feeding daintily along 

 whenever they spied a choice nip. I glanced at Rogers. 

 He was motionless, with his eyes on the beautiful picture. 

 As I said they came from my left and passed not at right 

 angles to my direction, but quartering so that gradually 

 they were nearing me, but would pass much nearer 

 Rogers on my right, if unmolested. I thought of what a 



relative once told me of "buck fever*" He was an ex- 

 perienced hunter and had had it badly, and predicted 

 that I would know all about it when I should see my first 

 deer. I wanted the buck badly. I wanted those antlers. 

 I judged the distance was 100yds. But just as I was 

 awaiting the most favorable moment the buck stopped 

 behind two huge pines that started from the same root 

 and separated just above ground. I could see a 

 narrow strip of his bodv between the trees, and 

 part of his face to the right of the right hand tree. 

 No buck fever yet, thought I. and then Rogers's gun 

 spoke. The deer threw up their heads and stood 

 motionless. Bang! went Rogers again, and this time 

 the deer, locating the mischief, wheeled and took 

 the back track like the wind. All whirled from me 

 but one, which turned my way, and as he presented his 

 broadside I gave him mine, only to quicken his motion. 

 Down went the lever, up went the gun, and I sent an- 

 other bullet after him, only to see him straighten Mmself 

 yet more. Rogers came running toward" me, saying 

 something, and as he did so 1 saw the deer pitch head- 

 long. "Hurrah!" shouted I, and it was neck and neck to 

 the quarry. As we reached him my knife was out and 

 quickly in his weasand. There he lay, my first deer, and 

 though he was a full-grown two-prong buck, he was not 

 nearly so large as I thought he ought to be. How beau- 

 tiful were his sleek sides. What grace and strength in 

 his sinewy limbs. How pitiful were his full dark" eyes, 

 fast glazing. How large w~ere his ears, and what a fine 

 taper to his delicate nose. How proud I was of my first 

 deer. But Rogers did not seem very enthusiastic, and 

 vaguely hinted that perhaps he might have had a hand in 

 the slaying. Up to that moment I had not a doubt as to 

 the responsibility, and indeed there was none, as I soon 

 convinced him by the location of the wounds and size of 

 bullets, his being considerably smaller than mine. Both 

 shots had struck; the first through the paunch and the 

 last square through the heart. Glory enough for one 

 day. We soon dressed the game and hung it up in a tree, 

 held a council of war, and started, Rogers to follow the 

 trail, and I to go straight up the ridge, meeting him at a 

 designated point in an horn- or two. I picked my way up 

 the mountain, stopping now and then to breathe, which 

 afforded me a good opportunity to try and locate that tree 

 that bore the beautiful deer fruit, I have many times 

 since passed gloomier days than that. Arriving at the 

 top of this ridge or spur of the mountain, running 

 parallel with the main range for quite a distance, I took 

 my way along its backbone and soon struck into a deer 

 trail which ran along the ridge and appeared to be 

 regularly used; and the thought popped up, "There's 

 plenty of time, it's a fine day, there's one deer safe, why 

 not sit down a while and keep this trail from rvmning 

 away while we smoke a pipe ?" I fell in with the idea to 

 rights, the light wind being in my face, filled my pipe, 

 sat down on the pine needle cushion that presented itself, 

 put my back against a rock just off the trail, where I had 

 a good view, and with my gun across my knees took a 

 half hour of solid comfort. 



It was, indeed, a most lovely day. The air was mild 

 and soft and just a trifle hazy[ a typical Indian summer 

 air. The mild November sun, just warm enough to make 

 one comfortably lazy, glinted among the pine needles 

 and powerfully encouraged my dolce far niente. The 

 smoke rose and floated away on the gentle breeze amid 

 a silence that was absolute. Neither bird, nor beast, nor 

 creeping thing broke the quiet that rested on the moun- 

 tain, and after listening in vain for Rogers's gun or voice, 

 I rose and proceeded, pipe in mouth, along the trail. 

 After some minutes walk, the top of the ridge being al- 

 most devoid of timber, I bent my steps diagonally to the 

 left for some score paces toward a growth of young pines 

 four or five feet in height, and when within about fifty 

 yards of the growth, which was quite dense and in the 

 nature of a fringe, I was stopped suddenly by the appear- 

 ance of something that had suddenly and but once moved 

 above the tops of this fringe. The wink of a deer's ear 

 suggested itself to me. I waited a few seconds, silently 

 cocking my gun. There was that something left of the 

 wink, but motionless. Was it an ear or only a tip of a 

 pine? Suddenly it disappeared and then came into view 

 again. I suddenly raised my rifle, forgetting my pipe 

 which was in the right side of my mouth. The gun hit- 

 it and the ashes flew into my eyes. I held the gmi up 

 with my left hand, wiped my eyes out with the light, 

 changed my pipe to the other side of my mouth, thmking 

 as I did so, "Where's your buck fever?" and drawing 

 down to where I thought the deer's side should be, if he 

 stood as I thought he did, let go, rapidly throwing an- 

 other cartridge into place. That ear, or whatever it was. 

 was still in position. "Too high," thought I, so I dropped 

 a little lower and spoke again. Then there was trouble. 

 That ear disappeared and there was quickstep music 

 diminuendo. I took the same time accelerando, and 

 found that some three-legged creature had gone down 

 the mountain in great haste, plowing the carpet reck- 

 lessly. I followed for nearly 200yds., "keeping the trail 

 ahead, when on a big pine I saw blood and hair, and 

 reaching it I found square to the left, six or eight feet 

 distant, the owner of the ear, a fine fat doe, in articulo 

 mortis. I leaned niy rifle against a tree, put my knife to 

 her throat and cut a pigeon-wing that Morlacchi (If I'm 

 right), or any other danseuee would have given, all her 

 drapery to accomplish. More glory. I was chock full of 

 whoop" but I didn't let it out for I did not know but 

 Dame Fortune intended to keep me in deer now that I 

 had gotten fairly at it, and I didn't want to do anything 

 to discourage her. So I went through the motions of 

 ecstasy and settled clown to business, which was to re- 

 lieve the doe of useless viscera and get her up into a 

 tree secure from any loitering "lion." After much tug- 

 ging and heaving I accomplished it, and straightway 

 filled another pipe in honor of my prowess. I have killed 

 a good many deer since, but never has my cup been so 

 full to overflowing as just then. After stroking myself 

 down and swelling myself out a while, I ascended to the 

 ridge and waited some time for Rogers, but not seeing 

 nor hearing him I strolled onward in hopes of getting 

 another shot, gradually porting my helm and pointing 

 for the ranch which I reached about noon, finding Rogers 

 at full length on the lounge making fearful grimaces with 

 a toothache. Quoth Mr. Sisty: 



"You had good luck this morning." 



Said I, very carelessly, as if I had always killed one 

 before breakfast each day, "Yes, I got a couple." 



"Got what?" said both, aB Rogers rose on one elbow, 



"Got a couple," said I again, 



