84 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 28, 1888. 



A BUNCH OF BEAR STORIES. 



I. — BILLY AND THE BALD-FACE. 



FORT SIMPSON. British Columbia.— You may remem- 

 ber that some time ago your ever-entertaining cor- 

 respondent "Forked Deer" wrote of a "golden" or "yel- 

 low" bear of California, which he believes to be only 

 found in one part of that country. It may be of interest 

 to "Forked Deer" and others to know that a small yellow 

 bear is found about the head of the Kit-Laub, or 

 Gardiner's Channel or Inlet, about 100 miles south of 

 this. They do not appear to be common, as but few 

 come in among mauy blacks and browns. Not having 

 seen an entire specimen, I cannot give dimensions accur- 

 ately, but from the size of the skins I should j udge them 

 to be about two-thirds as large as an ordinary full-grown 

 black. In color they are a yellowish- white; in some 

 cases sightly tinged with niBty on the shoulders. I am 

 of the opinion that they are sports, but whether of black 

 or brown I would not like to say. I have not heard of 

 their having been seen anywhere else on the coast. 



The bear of which the most marvellous stories are told 

 by the Indians, and which is held by them in the greatest 

 dread, is a large brownish-gray fellow, found in the 

 mountain ranges of the Skeena River, and those between 

 the Skeena Forks and Bobine Lake, and called by them 

 Tahamool. 



When one hears of his size, of his strength and of his 

 cunning, his satanie ferocity and the power his great 

 gray face has of turning a bullet, one naturally hopes 

 that if ever he has the luck to meet "Old Baldy" he may 

 be armed with gun or rifle the best. 



"Mat-tick [grizzlies]! Hah! they are bad! So are the 

 brown bears, but they are nothing to Tahamool. He 

 cares for nothing. He will rush out and tear you to 

 pieces ere you are aware of his presence. He will smell 

 you a mile away, and he makes a rush to get you. Be- 

 ware of Tahamooir Thus speaks Poor Lo of this, his 

 deadly enemy. 



Being a believer in the doctrine that no bear attacks 

 without due provocation, I one evening sought out an 

 old miner friend who had prospected the country in 

 which the bald-faces are most plentiful, and asked his 

 opinion on this, the bear of bears. "Do you think, 

 Billy, that the 'bald-face' will attack on sight? I mean, 

 of course, to except a dam with cubs." 



"Well, I dunno," said Billy. "Got a pretty bad scare 

 once with one. The only live one I ever came across, 

 and I've always respected the tribe since. But then that 

 was a she, and she had a couple of cubs." 



Billy pulled at his clay pipe for a while after this, un- 

 til I started him out by asking him to spin the yarn, and 

 thus he began: "About three years ago my partner, Jake 

 Harper, and I were up in the Kitsum Kaylum * country 

 prospecting. We had camped some distance from the 

 creek, away up in the mountains, and calc'lated to do 

 up a good section of country. Before we came up the 

 Indians had warned us of "the bears, telling us to look 

 out, as there were Tahamool up there, and that they 

 were very dangerous. We hadn't paid great heed to all 

 this, as the bears of that sort we had seen killed had 

 looked to us like nothing more than large browns, Bort 

 of gray with age, and mostly with the face quite gray. 

 In fact, we thought so little about bears that the first day 

 out we took nothing but pick and shovel, leaving our 

 rifles in the tent. 



"We took away up a mountain spur, which finally led 

 us to the crest of a sharp ridge; one side of which was 

 a sheer precipice, while the other sloped away down into 

 the canon at whose mouth our camp was pitched. 

 Mighty steep was that side, too, and covered with broken 

 slate and boulders. The crest was nearly level. In 

 some places sixty or eighty feet wide, while in others it 

 was not more than five or six. There were a few large 

 boulders scattered along, and some scraggy pines, with 

 here and there a clump of brush. 



"We had reached perhaps half-way along this place 

 when we heard a noise of stones clinking and scrub rustl- 

 ing; and looking up, we saw a big bald-face, making 

 straight for us; and just ahead of her were two cnbs. 

 They were still some distance from us; and we figured it 

 up that the old woman had scented, but not seen us, and 

 was making good tracks to get out of the way. Not car- 

 ing to interfere with her little private arrangements, we 

 took a sheer off to one side and waited for her to pass. 



' 'She passed? She passed just enough to smell where 

 we had turned off and then she turned too and came for 

 us with a growl that froze us stiff. There was a sudden 

 dissolution of partnership about then, I tell you! 



"Jake made a break toward the edge, never, I sup- 

 pose, taking a thought of where he was going, for the 

 bear charged after him first, down hill the other way a 

 little; and then, seeing that I was not followed, I came 

 back to the top of the crest and had a look. . At first I 

 could see nothing, hear nothing. Then I heard the old 

 bear come crashing along, and before I could make a 

 move to get anywhere, she broke cover within fifty yards 

 of me and at me she came. 



"Our mongrel dog had followed me that day and he 

 looked at her stupidly. I sicked him on, hoping that 

 he would engage the brute until I could get to a place of 

 safety, but he had no more than reached her when back 

 he came toward me and Madame Bear after him. Then 

 it was that I tried to knock out all previous records. I 

 ran straight. I ran crooked. I dodged among the rocks, 

 but still the savage brute gained on me, with wide open 

 jaws dropping foam. She made an occasional snap at 

 the dog who, if he did not worry her, at least kept some- 

 what in her way or I should never have escaped. Her 

 cubs kept time in the race as I could see in my hurried 

 backward glances. Though fast losing breath I still had 

 presence of mind and began to consider the situation as 

 I ran. Clearly I was going to get chawed up on the level, 

 I must try her down hill. 



"By this time we were not ten feet apart. I must let 

 her pass me. I made a sudden spring to one side behind 

 a small brush clump, and the bear, unable to stop on such 

 short notice, shot past me like the wind. 



"Before she could turn I was going down hill, with a 

 good start and a fervent hope that she would be satisfied 

 to leave me and go her way. No! there she has turned 

 and after me again, and at such a pace that I see it is all 

 day with me unless I can make another double on her. I 

 accordingly jumped aside again when I got a good chance, 

 and the steep hillside favoring her descent, she went a 



* A tributary of the Skeena River. 



long way past before she could check herself. I had 

 meanwhile climbed to the crest again and run along it a 

 little bit, but before the bear got quite up I started down 

 hill again. It was astonishing how soon she reached me 

 again! I began to lose heart. I was tired out and could 

 see no way to shake her off. She, on the other hand, 

 seemed to be getting fresher and more active. I now 

 noticed that the loose slate was beginning to move under 

 the scurry. The mountain slope was getting steeper. 

 Now for one last effort! I was too tired and moving 

 down hill too quickly to jump again. I just had strength 

 to throw myself sidevvise on to a large boulder which lay 

 imbedded in the loose debris, and hold on. The bear shot 

 past like a streak, and so close to me that I could feel her 

 fur brush my arm. The dog rolled clear over me and 

 recovered himself a little lower. Meanwhile, the old 

 bear, unable to stop herself, went on down, the rolling 

 mass getting bigger as she went. She finally i*eached the 

 scrub near the foot of the slope, and after shaking her- 

 self and gathering up her precious twins, who had by 

 that time reached her, she looked up toward where she 

 had last seen me as though meditating another attack. 

 She changed her mind, however, and started off down 

 the ravine leading toward our camp. 



"Then I picked myself up; tired and bruised, and 

 started off to look for poor Jake's remains — for dead I 

 was sure lie was— but I was thankful to hear him shout, 

 and shortly after to see him safe and sound and greatly 

 relieved at having found me alive. He took me to the 

 place he had been cornered in. Good heavens! On the 

 extreme edge, and overhanging the precipice, was a 

 comb of packed snow; the remains of a great drift, The 

 whole strip was about 16ft. wide, and probably overhung 

 8 or 10ft. It was fast melting, and no one could tell 

 what minute it might drop. Jake's tracks led to the ex- 

 treme outer edge, and those of the bear about to where 

 the solid rock ended. Instinct must have told her that 

 further than that would be unsafe. I wouldn't have 

 gone on that snow comb for all the gold in this country! 

 Neither would Jake, if he had had a chance to choose, 

 but the old gal had pressed him so close that he was 

 fairly forced there. Saved his life, anyhow! 



"Not another word was spoken until we reached camp 

 when Jake pulled open the tent flap, grabbed his old 

 rifle, and launched out against bears generally, and our 

 female friend particularly. I fully indorsed his opinions. 

 Two savage men might have been seen a few minutes 

 after, stealing through the woods up the canon, but that 

 bear was not seen again on that trip. Lucky for her 

 she wasn't! Although the yarn takes a good while to 

 tell, the whole affair took but a short time in reality." 



I glanced up at Billy's face, as he stopped speaking and 

 the drops stood on his forehead at the recollection of his 

 terrible experience. 



For a few minutes we all smoked in silence, then I 

 asked: "Do you think, then, that those bears will attack 

 from sheer viciousness?" 



"No, I don't, although that one went for us. You see 

 her cubs troubled her badly, and one could not tell but 

 what she had been hunted and worried a day or so 

 before, for the Indians hunt that section pretty freely." 



W. B. A. 



II.— AMONG CALIFORNIA REDWOODS. 



Fourteen years ago Crescent City was, and I suppose 

 still is, a point of some importance on the northern 

 coast of California, the principal industry being the 

 lumber trade. The harbor, while not a commodious one, 

 affords good protection from the summer winds which 

 6weep down the coast, but is exposed to the "south- 

 easters," which at times blow hard during the winter 

 season ; and it is entered by a crooked channel among the 

 numerous outlying reefs. 



While engaged in hydrographic surveying in the vicin- 

 ity, an anchorage was frequently sought at this place, 

 which afforded us conveniences for tidal observations, 

 and where a limited supply of fresh provisions was 

 obtainable; and it was during a somewhat protracted 

 stay in this port that Stanton and I determined to see 

 something of the interior of the country. 



With this object in view, we landed One morning prop- 

 erly equipped for a week of investigation, and having 

 hired a horse and wagon from the only livery stable in 

 town, we set out on the Jasksonville road, which extends 

 in a northeasterly direction, and enters the redwood hills 

 about five miles from the coast. After three miles of 

 travel through the redwoods, we drew up at the first 

 house we had seen since leaving Crescent City, a log hut, 

 which served as a stopping place for the teamsters who 

 were engaged in hauling chrome ore from a mine about 

 ten miles further on, situated near what was known as 

 Tack*s or the Low Divide. 



The only occupant of the house at the time of our visit 

 was the proprietor, Tom Ford, a genial Irishman, who 

 divided his time in attending to his occasional customers 

 and in cultivating a small tract of about ten acres of level 

 ground extending back of the house, and surrounded by 

 woods. Of course we were hungry, and after having 

 disposed of the dinner which Tom prepared for us at 

 short notice, we decided to walk do^vn to the further edge 

 of the farm in hope of seeing a bear, having heen assured 

 by our host that he frequently saw them crossing the 

 fence at the extreme corner of a piece of ground upon 

 which he had lately raised a crop of oats, a small portion 

 having been left uncut in the corner. 



Taking our rifles and accompanied by Tom and a large 

 brindle dog, the guardian of the place, we started for the 

 oatfield, and when about half way there, sure enough a 

 large black bear suddenly raised up out of the oats, and 

 after taking a short, but apparently satisfactory look at 

 us, dropped out of sight and made off. Why we did not 

 shoot I know not and did not know at the time, but I 

 suppose we were so taken by surprise, neither of us hav- 

 ing put much faith in Tom's story of the bears he had 

 seen in the field, that we were "rattled." After an inter- 

 change of opinions expressive of disgust at each other's 

 want of preparation, we crossed the corner of the field, 

 and climbing the fence took our course through the 

 woods. After a time we heard the dog barking vigor- 

 ously. "He's treed a bear," said Tom, and after follow- 

 ing up the sound for some time we finally found the dog, 

 but no bear; nothing in the neighborhood of more conse- 

 quence than a squirrel. 



This was repeated several times, until wearied by our 

 exertions, we stretched ourselves out on a fallen tree, 

 where we remained until we noticed that it was growing 



late, and we were a long distance from the house. We 

 thereupon set out on our return, which we found no easy 

 matter, the way being mostly down hill, night coming 

 on, and the road a rough one. However, with Tom and 

 the dog in the lead, Stanton and I following, now climb- 

 ing three or four feet to the top of a redwood log, and 

 then sliding down from it some eight or ten feet on the 

 lower side, occasionally placing a hand in the darkness 

 on one of the large snails so abundant in the redwoods, 

 its cold, slimy touch sending the chills up and down 

 one's back, and finally scrambling down the rocky, 

 briery bed of a creek, we emerged from the woods and 

 found ourselves among a growth of ferns, some ten or 

 twelve feet in height, which we had noticed shortly after 

 leaving the house, as adjoining the corner of the oatfield. 

 The moon had now risen, and its light was a grateful 

 relief from the gloom and darkness of the woods, and as 

 we knew the house was near by, we stepped out m ore 

 lightly. 



By this time Tom and his dog had gotten some dis- 

 tance ahead, and we had hardly entered the fern patch, 

 when the barking of the dog was again heard, added to 

 which was an occasional shout from Tom Stanton wanted 

 to hurry ahead , but bearing in mind our experiences of 

 the afternoon in treeing bears, I endeavored to dissuade 

 him, and while uncertain whether we should at once re- 

 turn to the house, or investigate the cause of the disturb- 

 ance, we heard Tom's voice shouting, "He's got a bear 

 up a tree, hurry!" and we doubted no longer, but hurried. 

 Crossing the corner of the oatfield and jumping the fence 

 we found Tom and the dog at the foot of a large redwood 

 tree, just in the edge of the woods, the moon's rays dimly 

 lighting the scene, and enabling us to discern a large 

 black object clinging to the trunk of the tree about thirty 

 feet from the ground. "He's coming down!" shouted 

 Tom, and climbing on a log about fifteen feet from the 

 base of the tree, we began to shoot. During the time 

 that the bear was sliding down, we managed to get in 

 two shots apiece, and although the moonlight was not 

 sufficient to enable us to see the sights on our guns, it 

 mattered little, as we were so near that the fire seemed 

 to reach from the muzzles of the rifles to the body of the 

 bear. When about eight feet from the ground and just 

 as I fired, he let go and dropped. 



Naturally supposing that we had killed him, or so dis- 

 abled him that escape was impossible, I threw another 

 cartridge into the chamber of my Winchester and was 

 about to jump down off the log and investigate, when the 

 bear, emerging from the darkness about the foot of the 

 tree, ran against the log on which we were standing, 

 scrambled over it and disappeared up the hill. To say 

 that we were surprised would hardly express the situa- 

 tion. When we began to shoot, the dog ran off, evidently 

 afraid of the guns; Tom Ford ran off, evidently afraid of 

 the bear. It took some little time to get man and dog 

 back again, and then the bear had such a start up the 

 hill that it would have been some time before we could 

 have found him, if at all, so after considering this, and 

 our tired condition, we concluded to let that bear go. A 

 short walk took us to the house, where, after a good sup- 

 per and a discussion over a comfortable pipe as to what 

 we should do on the morrow, we turned in. Chetko. 



III.— A SCRIMMAGE IN NEW HAMPSHIRE WILDS. 



Edwin Schoff, of Pittsburg, N. H., a farmer and 

 hunter, went to turn out a horse in a back pasture lately, 

 and having a trap set for a bear near the pasture, thought 

 he would tend it before going home. On approaching 

 the trap he saw a bear in it, and not having a gun with 

 him he returned home and got two of his neighbors to 

 go back with him — Willie Johnson and Luke Towle. He 

 also took his two hounds, Bessie and Dom Pedro. Com- 

 ing in sight of the bear in the trap he saw two other 

 bears or cubs that seemed to be waiting for a chance to 

 get into the trap. Schoff, being in advance of Johnson 

 and Towle, when he saw the cubs made for them, and 

 the old mother bear made for him, with the trap on her 

 foot; it had no clog, so she could make pretty good time 

 with the trap dragging. Schoff kept his eyes on the old 

 bear and followed up the cubs, leading the hounds; but 

 presently the cubs got out of sight in the thick woods and 

 he let the hounds go on their track. The old bear had 

 got dangerously near him, too, and he had nothing but 

 a pistol for firearms. 



Luckily about this time the old bear got snarled up in 

 the brush, and the dogs had treed the cubs; and Johnson 

 and Towle — having heard the outcry of the dogs and the 

 old bear, who, by the way, had made the woods ring 

 with her screeching— came up, bringing ropes with which 

 they intended to bring in the old bear alive. 



The two cubs had climbed a tall spruce tree, and Towle 

 went up after them. When he came to the first one he 

 shook him off the limb he was on, and he fell to the 

 ground, about twenty-five feet, and Johnson and Schoff 

 seized him and tied him with the ropes to a tree. 



Towle, meantime, followed the other cub to the very 

 top of the tree and seized him by the nap of the neck and 

 backed down the tree with him, and when within eight 

 feet of the ground the cub turned his head and bit him. 

 He threw him to the ground, which so stunned him that 

 the men on the ground easily tied him also. 



They now turned their attention to the old bear, who 

 was nearly out of the trap, and had broken her leg in the 

 melee, so they fired seven shots from the pistol into her 

 head before she succumbed. They then carried their live 

 young bears home; and they attract much attention by 

 their cunning pranks, and are getting quite tame and 

 docile. When the old bear made such a bellowing when 

 she got hung up in the brush, Towle said he was glad he 

 was in the tree out of her reach. 



Pittsburg is a wild place in the depth of the forest, far 

 from the outside world, and is inhabited by rough back- 

 woodsmen, forming a sniill hamlet of the hardiest fron- 

 tier men in all New England, and is a renowned hunting 

 ground for big game, where the moose, cai'ibou, deer and 

 bear may be found in abundance. And the Indian devil 

 is secure in his lair — defying the arts of civilization. 



J. G, R. 



Venison in the New York Market.— How about the 

 venison in market on the 15th? How quick it must have 

 been killed and shipped after midnight.— New Yorker. 

 [The venison is of last year's stock, has been kept in cold 

 storage and is now taken out and put on sale when the 

 season opened. It is for the most part Western venison.] 



