2 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 23, 1890. 



SLIDE ROCK FROM MANY MOUNTAINS. 



n. — A BULL MOOSE AND A BEAK. 



FOR some days we had journeyed down Middle Creek. 

 In the pass at its head we had been buffeted by the 

 blasts that howl among those bare rough peaks, and 

 blinded by the whirling snowdrifts that they carry with 

 them. Further down the valley the clouds had drenched 

 us with dismal downpouring rain, and the mountains, 

 which walled us in on either hand, had been hidden by 

 curtains of mist. At last the storms had passed away, 

 and now a cloudless sky over-arched the valley and we 

 traveled through a crisp, cool, bracing air, tempered at 

 midday by warm sunshine. 



At length we reached the main river and turning north- 

 ward followed up its narrow valley. So far not much 

 game had been seen on the trip. This was perhaps more 

 because no one had looked for it. than from any real scarc- 

 ity. One or two of the packers had seen deer, the Geolo- 

 gist, when riding ahead of the train, had come upon a 

 small grizzly bear, which had promptly fled up tie 

 mountainside, and some fresh elk tracks had been ob- 

 served. So far, however, nothing had been killed. No 

 one had taken the time to hunt, for we were hui-rying 

 along a,s fast as possible, and all hands traveled with the 

 train. We were trying to reach a particular point, at 

 which some work was to be done. The noise made by a 

 pack train— the bell, the calls of the packers, the snap- 

 ping of sticks as they are broken by the packs, the occa- 

 sional dull clang of steel against stone, as a horsed shod 

 hoof strikes a rock in the trail, and the rustling of the 

 brush against the loads — is always enough to frighten 

 away any game that may be in the vicinity. There was 

 every indication that at certain seasons at least— in spring 

 and early summer, when the ground was soft from rains 

 and melting snows— elk, deer and bear had been abundant 

 here. Their old tracks were seen everywhere. 



Although we had killed no game we had by no means 

 starved. The stream was full of trout, of which a erood 

 many came to our table, and as we traveled along we 

 managed almost every day to kill a few grouse, which 

 were tender and delicious. 



One afternoon we camped early and almost everybody 

 started out to hunt. The packers went up and down the 

 creek to look for deer. Provo took the hillside north of 

 camp, while I climbed the mountain at whose foot we had 

 pitched our tents, thinking that possibly I might get a 

 shot at some elk that I had seen high up above the valley 

 just before we made camp. 



That night no meat was brought in. The packers had 

 seen deer, but had failed to get any. J had come on the 

 tracks of the elk and had followed them until near dark, 

 but had been unable to come up with the animals, which 

 were traveling along without pausing to feed. Provo, 

 however, had had a mixture of good and bad luck which 

 I envied him. After hunting all the afternoon without 

 seeing any game, he was returning to camp toward night- 

 fall, walking down the valley with his rifle over his 

 shoulder, when, to use his own expression, "a great bio- 

 black animal, with horns and whiskers, started up out of 

 the willows about 40yds. in front of me, and stood there 

 looking at me. Of course I knew it must be a bull moose, 

 and I fired at it . As soon as I shot, it turned and ran off 

 about 300yds, and then lay down among the willows. I 

 could see it lying there tossing its head about. I did not 

 know what to do now, whether to let it alone— for I felt 

 sui-e that it must be badly wounded— or to try to get near 

 to it and finish it up. I went toward it, but did not go 

 very close, for I was afraid of frightening it. I could see 

 nothing but the tips of its horns, and so had nothing to 

 shoot at. I started to go around it, looking for some 

 opening through which to shoot at its body, but before I 

 had made the circle it jumped up and ran'away. I tried 

 to shoot at it, but my Winchester failed to go. I followed 

 the tracks for half a mile and then lost them in some 

 thick timber." 



It was three or four days after this, on a beautiful , 

 bright Sunday morning, that one of the packers rode into 

 camp and announced that he had found Mr. Provo's moose. 

 He had met the slayer of the bull,who was out photograph- 

 ing, and had taken him to where the carcass lay. A few 

 horns later the hero of the adventure came in and told 

 us where the moose had been found. He said among 

 other things that he intended that afternoon to take an 

 axe and go up to the carcass and get the scalp with the 

 horns, and mentioned casually that the bears had been at 

 the meat. I suggested to him that his trip for the horns 

 be postponed till near sunset, and that then we might 

 walk up with our guns and possibly get a shot at a bear. 

 The suggestion was approved, dinner was ordered a little 

 earlier than usual, and before six o'clock Provo, Percy- 

 val and I, having crossed the creek on a fallen tree, were 

 marching in single file through the open timber. 



From camp to where the moose lay was perhaps two 

 miles, and as the sun was already behind the mountain 

 tops it was necessary that we should walk briskly if we 

 were to reach the carcass before dark. Now, it happened 

 that the day before Provo had had an attack of indiges- 

 tion, and this rapid walking made him again quite ill, 

 and when we had come within 200 or 300yds. of where 

 the moose was [he sat down on a log, feeling too badly to 

 go further. He said: "You two go on ; Percyval knows 

 where the moose is, I will come as soon as I can." It 

 was necessary to act on this advice at once, if we hoped 

 to get a shot, as the dusk was now drawing on rapidly, 

 ^ud already in the thick timber we could see but a short 

 distance. 



We started for the carcass, and presently, when we 

 got near to where it was, Percyval very generously in- 

 sisted on my taking the lead, although I urged him to 

 keep it, if for no other reason than that he knew where 

 the moose lay, which I did not. However, he pushed me 

 ahead, remarking that he could guide me by motions 

 of his hand. By this time we were pretty close to 

 the carcass, and as may be imagined, were going along 

 as quietly as possible, for, as is known to every one who 

 has ever hunted them, bears are very keen of scent and 

 acute of hearing. We were going through thick green 

 timber, and there were some fallen trees on the ground, 

 which besides was strewn with dead dry branches and 

 twigs, which would snap and crack on the very smallest 



{>rovocation. However, we went along pretty noise- ! 

 essly, looking and listening with all our eyes and ears. 



Once we thought Ave heard a twig snap in the thick 

 timber just ahead of us, but it appeared after a little 

 that it was only the cracking of the branches in a wind- 

 swayed dead pine above us. Very slowly and carefully 

 we went on, and presently I noticed that Percyval had 

 stopped. I could see frorn his actions that he had come 

 to the place where he supposed the moose lav, but there 

 was no moose there. 



It was now almost too dark to see one's sights, and any 

 shooting that was to be done must be done quickly. I took 

 two or three quiet steps forward and strove to penetrate 

 the gloom of the forest. I could see nothing, hear nothing; 

 out as I stood looking there was wafted to my nostrils a 

 faint odor of decaying meat. There was only a slight 

 breeze, but what there was blew down the valley. We 

 had come to the carcass up wind, and so it must be ahead 

 of us. With my nose in the air like a pointer on a hot 

 scent I "drew" along as quickly, yet as cautiously as pos- 

 sible. I had gone not more than 15 or 20ft., the scent 

 constantly growing stronger, when suddenly I heard— as 

 it seemed at my very elbow— the shrill whistling "woof" 

 of a bear. 



It would perhaps be an exaggeration to say that at the 

 sound I jumped over the 50-foot spruce by which I was 

 standing, but I have no doubt that I straightened up a 

 little, for I was startled. That the bear was close to me 

 I could not doubt, but beyond this I knew nothing, and 

 I wanted to know a great deal. Had he seen or smelt us? 

 was he standing, running away or charging? was he as 

 large as a camp kettle or as small as a load of hay? These 

 interesting questions chased each other through my 

 brain with the speed of thought, but I had no time nor 

 inclination to ponder over them. My whole mind was 

 concentrated in my eyes and ears; for I was struggling 

 with all my might to discover the whereabouts of the 

 bear. At the same time I had a curious and delightful 

 feeling of exhilaration; somewhat the same sensation 

 that one sometimes experiences when in full health and 

 vigor he faces a storm, delighting to throw out his chest 

 and press forward in the teeth of wind and rain and 

 snow. There was some little excitement in the feeling, 

 and a glad willingness to meet the rush of the bear if he 

 should be coming my way; it was a sort of gandmm eer- 

 torn in is, in fact. The whole feeling, while not new to 

 me, was new from such a cause; and I mention it as a 

 psychological phenomenon which greatly interested me. 



Standing where I had first heard the bear, I looked and 

 listened for a guide to his position; but in vain. Strain 

 my eyes and ears as I might, I could neither see nor hear 

 anything more. I took two swift, stealthy steps forward, 

 and like a ghost glided up— almost to the moose's head. 

 A great tree, with some thick brush at its foot, had hid- 

 den the carcass from me. ■ 



A quick look over the little open spot in which the car- 

 cass lay showed nothing living, and my heart sank. I 

 glanced again at the shadowy black mass which termin- 

 ated in a dimly seen moose's head and horns about six- 

 yards from my feet, and as I looked I thought I saw 

 motion in that part of the mass furthest from me: and it 

 flashed across me that the bear was there, at work at the 

 stern of the moose and that he had not heard ns. 



It was now very dark, and I looked in vain for some- 

 thing to shoot at. * I could form no notion as to the size 

 of the bear, nor as to how he stood, whether head or side 

 toward me, though as the moose lay with its head toward 

 me, it was perhaps reasonable to suppose that the bear 

 was head on too. I dared not move, for if the bear should 

 perceive me, one jump would put him out of my sight. 

 At this moment the bear again moved, and I made out — 

 or thought I did — his shoulders, and the line of his 

 roach. I instantly determined that I would try to break 

 his neck, and without a moment's hesitation I threw up 

 the gun, fired and r-e loaded. 



A loud bawl followed the shot, and a dark object separ- 

 ated itself from the moose and began to dance about and 

 turn somersaults over the ground. Evidently I had 

 wounded the bear, but I was not inclined to take any 

 chances of his getting away, so I took a step or two to- 

 ward the tumbler, put ia another ball behind the shoulder 

 and the gymnastics ceased at once. 



Now it has been made clear, I hope, that up to this 

 time I had known very little about this bear. The crea- 

 ture's voice — so to speak — and its surroundings told me 

 that it was a bear, but at no time had the light been suf- 

 ficient for me to see it clearly enough, to determine its 

 size or shape. Now, when it lay still, I stepped up to it, 

 and finding that it no longer breathed, took it by the ear 

 to look at its head, and by the forefoot to examine its 

 claws. Disappointment awaited me. It was not one of 

 those thousand-pound grizzlies of which we hear so much 

 and see so little. It was not even a grizzly of the smal- 

 lest size, but just a plain, simple, ordinary, common 

 black bear, neither very large nor very small; quite old, 

 as his yellow broken teeth showed, but in no sense a 

 monster of the forest, nor a monarch of the mountains. 

 The most that could be said for him was that he was a 

 bear. How much he weighed I cannot say. Percyval 

 and I tried to carry him out to the edge of the river, 

 where there was a little light to get a better look at his 

 skin, aud we found that we could just lift him clear of 

 the ground, but could not carry him. 



I suppose that to preserve the unities aud to tell a really 

 good bear story. I should now dilate on the long glossy 

 fur of the animal, and explain that my feet are at present 

 resting on his hide, but truth is better even than a good 

 story. On passing my hand over the animal's coat I found 

 that his skin was not worth taking off. Besides this he 

 was very thin, and his flesh would have been poor eating 

 for those who care for bear meat, which I do not. So we 

 left him lying there by the dead moose, and I confess to 

 a sneaking regret that I had killed the poor fellow. 



While we were talking and laughing over the occur- 

 rences of the evening, Provo came up, and before long 

 we had the horns off the moose, and had started back to 

 camp. By this time it was quite dark in the timber, and 

 even in the little open spots which we had to cross the 

 light was very dim; the stars were shining: it was night. 



We had no sooner started on our return to camp than 

 our troubles began. Any one who has had occasion to walk 

 at night through thick timber where there is no trail can 

 picture to himself the sorrows which we endured in pass- 

 ing over the two miles which lay between the woods and 

 our camp. In the open timber, where there was no under- 

 brush, it was not so bad. The goiug was fairly good, aud 

 the sound of the stream on our left gave us the direction. ■ 

 But when there was down timber or underbrush, or, worst 

 of all, deep gullies with steep banks, in such places our 



I woes became unspeakable. At almost every step fallen 

 j logs tripped us up. stones got in our way, we walked into 

 thick clumps of low-grow T ing vegetation which clung 

 about our feet and threw us down; at every fe w steps 

 we thrust our faces against sharp-pointed dead branches 

 of the trees among which we were walking. These were 

 uncomfortable incidents, but the most annoying tiling of 

 all was to be walking along apparently over smooth 

 ground, and then suddenly step off a cut bank and fall 

 two, three or six feet on to the round boulders below. 

 This was enough to ruffle the temper of a Job or to make 

 a parson swear. 



In one of Mark Twain's books— perhaps it is in "Rough- 

 ing It" — there is a story told of a stage coach at night on 

 the plains whose driver has lost the road. Driver and 

 express guard get down from the box to look for the 

 wagon tracks, the former carrying a lantern. In their 

 search the guard, who was a little ahead, fell over a cut 

 bank a dozen feet high, and called back to the driver, 

 who held the light. "Don't come here;" to which the 

 driver replied in grim humor, "Think I'm a damn fool?" 

 I was reminded many times that niarht of this story, for 

 during the two hours that were spent in making our wa y 

 back to camp, the warning "Don't come here" was almost 

 constantly in the mouth of the man who happened to be 

 in the lead. 



At length, however, the lights of the camp-fires were 

 seen on the opposite side of the creek; we made our way 

 down to the water, crossed over, and soon sitting around 

 the cheery blaze told our story. 



The next morning we had almost forgotten the scratches 

 that we carried on our hands and faces, and the pictures 

 of the boulders that we wore on our shins. Yo. 



WILD HORSES OF AUSTRALIA. 



THE problem which I have discussed in a former 

 article regarding dogs, also exists regarding horses. 

 Is there really such a thing as a wild horse, except in the 

 sense of the domestic horse which has got loose into the 

 wilds and bred there? Are the so-called wild horses 

 capable of domestication by merely being caught and 

 tamed? Do they lose their wild characteristics— such as 

 they are — by interbreeding with domestic stock? 



The subject is a very interesting one net only to the 

 naturalist, but to the sportsman and also to that much 

 larger class of readers who are neither naturalists nor 

 sportsmen, but who, nevertheless, like to hear about 

 animals and strange countries and the changes that are 

 made by civilization and discovery. The horse question 

 carries us at one sweep of the mental vision over a very 

 large part of the. earth's surface and back into very re- 

 mote periods of its history. Fossil remains show that 

 horses existed in America as well as in Europe, Asia and 

 Africa, ages and ages ago, when rhinoceroses and other 

 queer beasts were quite common in countries where now 

 they are only to be found in the "Zoo." These horses, I 

 fancy, must have been wild, because there were no men 

 in the world to tame them then, as far as the fossils show. 

 Moreover, these antediluvian horses— the American va- 

 rieties, at least — had three or four toes on each foot, and 

 were, therefore, quite unfit for domestic purposes. But, 

 as far back as the history of mankind goes, the horse is 

 always alluded to as a domestic animal, and never as a 

 wild animals. In the Old Testament we read of horses 

 as an ordinary and necessary companion of man, in the 

 earliest description of social life after the creation: and 

 the most ancient Egyptian and Assyrian monuments are 

 covered with representations of horses so splendidly bred 

 and trained that they must have had an immensely long 

 and aristocratic pedigree, though their pictures are 4,000 

 or 5,000 years old. To come down to later times, when 

 Julius Caesar invaded Britain, one of the first things he 

 noticed was that the savages of that remote country had 

 beautiful horses. Cassar was a bit of a vet. He had an 

 eye for a horse, and in his Commentaries he notes with 

 high approval the points of the British horses and the ad- 

 mirable manner in which they were trained to draw 

 chariots with scythes projecting from the axles, in battle. 

 When Alexander the Great invaded India, he found the 

 Indian princes riding superb steeds and commanding 

 magnificent cavalry. As for the Chinese, they have had 

 horses ever since they have had pigtails, which signifies 

 an antiquity bewildering to contemplate. In short, one 

 of the first things Adam did when he was turned out of 

 Eden, seems to have been to rope a mustang and teach 

 Cain and Abel to ride. 



But, it will be asked, perhaps with some surprise, are 

 there not wild horses still to be found in some parts of 

 the world, not merely tame horses gone wild, but wild 

 species? It does not do to be too positive about these 

 things, but I am inclined to answer that question in the 

 negative. There are only two places where it is even 

 alleged that truly wild horses exist, and both of these 

 cases are doubtful. The tarpan which roams the plains 

 of Tartary is most commonly adduced as the original 

 wild horse, and there is this to be said in favor of the 

 theory — the tarpan is certainly a horse. It also has this 

 resemblance to a wild animal, that it is almost always 

 the same color, red or reddish, with a black stripe down 

 the back and a black mane and tail. But great numbers 

 of domestic horses in Tartary are the same color, and 

 whenever a Tartar tribe are short of horses, they cap- 

 ture as many tarpans as they want and break them to 

 the saddle or pack-harness without more trouble than 

 would be required with any other horses that had never 

 been handled in youth. The alleged untameableness of 

 the tarpan is all nonsense. It kicks and bites and plays 

 up for a bit, as any horse would that has run loose all 

 its life, but a Tartar bit and a huge load soon bring it to 

 its senses; and before it has been lashed and goaded a 

 hundred miles over the steppe, it ia just as broken-spirited 

 as any poor brute in the caravan. The Tarpan breeds 

 freely with domestic Tartar stock and the progeny are 

 not distinguishable. 



The other so-called wild horse, the koomrah of north- 

 era Africa— named by its discoverer, Colonel Hamilton 

 Smith, Equus hippagrus, as if it were a distinct species — 

 has the disadvantage of not being a horse at all. It is a 

 quaint-looking beast, something like a tarpan in color, 

 but with woolly hair on its forehead instead of a fore- 

 lock, and no hair at all on its tail for some distance from 

 the root. It is allied to the zebra (Equus hipputrigris), 



