446 
John Dunn and the Wolf, | 
In these end-of-the-century days when the nation's 
pulse is afire with military fever, and niiiitary lions 
wander around seeking whom they may kiss, it may not 
be out of place to recall some unrecorded instances of 
real heroism in one of the most romantic and desperate 
struggles in which Americans ever engaged. The history 
of that struggle was written in blood. It has never been 
written in ink. But it is one full of strange stories, 
which, if not history, are yet worthy of perpetuation as 
romance, more romantic than the deeds and days of 
chivalry. It was the fate of the Kentucky pioneers to 
enact their parts in the silence of the wilderness, and 
their lives are enshrouded in the shadows of the far-off 
forests upon which the night of forgetfulness has de- 
. scended. But they were patriots and heroes, and their 
names should not be suffered to perish. They were men 
of Sparta.n mould, who "feared the Lord, but kept their 
powder dry," who were equally ready to throttle a wolf 
or scalp an Indian. 
Two miles from Shepherdsville the county road lead- 
ing to Ruber's Station passes through a gap in the knobs, 
and the beautiful Blue Lick Valley is spread out before 
you, bounded by the heavy pine-clad hills, which rise 
up all around in rugged, irregular, braAvny masses. To 
the right of the road, at the base of the knobs, over- 
looking the valley, stands a quaint old brick house. A 
single glance will suffice to show that it was built in a 
day when a man's house had to be his castle. There 
is no man living to-day who knows when John Dunn 
built this home in the wilderness. But in the stone- 
walled burying ground beside it the headstone over his 
children's graves, who were buried there over a hundred 
years ago, shows that this house is among the oldest in the 
State. What tales those massive old walls could tell 
if they could repeat the sounds to which they echoed 
when the Wyandotte chief, who is buried where he fell 
on the hillside, came into the valley; when Cahill vvas 
bound and burned at the stake on top of the knob which 
stands isolated, sentinel-like, overlooking the valley and 
still bears his name; when the fires of a hundred furnaces 
flared up through the forest and a thousand men were at 
work at "the Licks"; when Louisville could boast but 
half a dozen cabins, and the butfalo slept about the base 
of Capitol Hill. 
In that early day of settlement this region was the 
seat of two most important manufactures to the pioneers, 
salt and iron. Here the first settlers in the blue-grass 
region came for hundreds of miles, braving untold 
dangers, to carry back with them a little bag of salt, 
which was certainly more precious than gold when it is 
considered at what risk it was obtained. But it has 
been many a day since either . salt or iron has been 
manufactured in Bullet county, and now "the Licks" 
are as wild and lonely as when the savage first contested 
the supremacy of the solitude — and right bitterly did the 
Indians debate the question of proprietorship with the 
pioneers. It was their favorite hunting ground. Not 
only could they get salt here, which was as prime a 
necessity with them as with our ancestors, but vast herds 
of bison, elk and deer were to be found at the Licks 
drawn by the same necessity for an essential element of 
life. Over the ridge, a mile or more above the old 
Dunn house, can still be seen the old buffalo trace, re- 
sembling a sunken road, worn by the wild kine in their 
journeyings to and fro through countless centuries, be- 
fore the white man came. 
Many were the ambuscades, surprisals and reprisals, 
deadly onslaughts and daring deeds of high adventure 
before the pioneers were able to convince the red men 
that this region belonged to them by virtue of 
"The good old riile, the simple plan, 
That they may take who have the power, 
And they may keep who can." 
It is true that Dan'l Boone and Isaac Shelby had 
bought all this country from the Cherokees at Watauga 
for a trifle of beads and colored glass, but by a proc- 
lamation dated Oct. 7, 1763. George III. had "strictly 
enjoined that no private persons do presume to pur- 
chase from the Indians, any lands," reserving that right 
solely for his own greedy royal highness. Besides 
which there were a dozen other Indian tribes who dis- 
puted the Cherokees' right to this great game reserve 
as bitterly as they did the white men's pretensions— the 
Chickasaws, Choctaws, Creeks, Shawnees, Delawares, 
Wyandottes and others. 
The home of no tribe, the hunting ground of all, sub- 
ject to the periodical incursions of these roving gentry, 
harried bv friend and foe, it was like the Scottish 
borders of yore. Every salt lick, canebrake, mountain 
and vallev was the subject of hard battles and long 
talks, for our forefathers, it is said, were medicine 
men as well as warriors and vindicated their claims by 
arts as well as arras. The topographical nomenclature 
is suggestive of those troublous times. Floyd s tork 
to-day designates a beautiful bass stream, but there was 
a time when the pioneers distinguished it from the 
others with a sigh and a shudder, recalling gruesome 
recollections, as "the Fork where Col. Floyd and his 
men were ambushed." And so with many other places 
in this vicinity that came to have "a local habitation and 
a name" through some deed of blood. 
As may be imagined, it required a man of no little 
courage, hardihood and ability to succeed under such 
circumstances in not only conquering the stubborn 
wilderness, with all its privations and dangers, but m 
the face of such savage opposition. Nowhere in all the 
dark and bloody ground did the Indians make such a 
iTerce and relentless fight as for the possession of the 
salt licks That John Dunn not only kept his scalp, 
dying peacefully in his bed at an advanced age, but made 
this palatial home in the wilderness, is evidence sutii- 
cient that he possessed in no common degree those 
qualities of the hardy backwoodsmen which Byron 
immortalized ip Daniel Boone. He was one of the 
original pioneers accompanying Boone upon his second 
trip into Kentucky, although it was several years later 
before he settled on Blue Lick. Here, aiter several 
years' wandering through the trackless wilderness, he 
found an ideal home in the beautiful little vallev. Its 
broad bottoms yielded well, the creek flowing by his 
door was alive with fish and the woods filled with game, 
f ORBST ANfi 0TB.EJ 
' while the salt licks just beyond the raiigs o£ knobs af- 
forded a fine field for commercial enterprise. It was one 
commodity which the pioneers m.ust have. It is said he 
had nearly a hundred slaves employed in the salt works 
before he died. 
He is described as a man of powerful physique, over 
6 feet in his moccasins, and of great strength and cour- 
age, as well as great violence in the exercise of it when 
once aroused. His pertinacity and fearlessness were 
strikingly exhibited in the pursuit of a band of Indians 
who upon one of their incursions had killed Fossett and 
several other settlers, besides stealing a number of 
horses. The pursuing party followed them as far as 
the Ohio River, where the majority turned back; but 
Dunn, and a few others equally determined and smarting 
for revenge, followed on, and overtaking the Indians 
fell upon them, but were outnumbered and forced to 
flee. In the en.gagement, however, John Dunn had re- 
taken one of the stolen horses, and being too hard 
pressed to regain the canoes by which they had crossed 
he swam the river in the middle of winter, and then 
rode the captured horse all the way to Lexington to 
restore it to its owner, who lived there. The latter, 
however, refused to accept it, properly enough, and 
Dunn kept the animal until it died, refusing to part with 
it at any price, although he was a great trader. 
I suppose no one living to-day can recall the winter 
of 1804 in the wilds of Kentucky. But it was a bitter 
one, according to the tradition whlph I have heard, and 
which illustrates the character of the man, as incidents 
always do, much better than mere description. There 
was no danger apprehended from the Indians. But the 
elements had conspired to do their worst toward making 
the pioneers' lot harder than ever. The severe and pro- 
tracted cold threatened all live stock with extinction. 
Game disappeared, and the wolves gathered together in 
packs and became ferocious. The loss of a cow or 
a horse was a severe one for the pioneer in 
those days. It could not be very readily replaced. He 
couldn't get another on six months' time from his next 
neighbor. His next neighbor might be a hundred miles 
away, and short on live stock, but long on troubles 
himself. It became dangerous to venture out at night. 
One man rushed out to the rescue of a heifer attacked 
by the wolves and narrowly escaped with his life, but 
was crippled ever after. From sunset to sunrise the 
wolves howled and hunted in packs over the crusted snow. 
But suddenly the big pack that had made night hideous 
in the Blue Lick valley disappeared. At first the settlers 
were nonplussed. Soon it was accounted for by the 
appearance of an enormous gray timber wolf which 
hunted alone, and before which the other wolves faded 
away. Startling tales came from Bullit's Lock of the 
animal's colossal size. He was said to be almost white. 
He had killed and dragged a horse away single-handed; 
he was seen by day fearlessly invading the barnyards, and 
at night came snufflng under the doors. He had run 
down and • killed a big deer hound belonging to one 
of the settlers. They had banded themselves to hrnit 
him down, but their hounds refused to take the animal's 
trail, turning tail the moment they were laid on it, and 
they had tracked him in the snow in vain. Traps were 
set for him with all the skill with which the pioneers 
knew so well how to deceive the wariest of wild animals. 
But with incomprehensible astuteness he seemed to di- 
vine their best laid plans and betook himself of?. There 
were no end of uncanny tales about the beast. Many 
believed him to be the devil in disguise. 
The great wolf signalized his advent in Blue Lick by 
killing John Dunn's finest heifer. There could be no 
doubt about it being the beast of whom every one 
stood in such terror. No other could have exhibited 
such strength, tearing its way into the pen as if the 
stout poles of which it was constructed Avere but dead, 
rotten sticks. Inflamed with anger, Dunn started out 
at dawn with all his men and what neighbors he could 
summon, his heart swollen with fury. From daylight 
until dark they trailed the wolf and beat the thickets m 
vain. Arriving back 'home after nightfall, he found 
the wolf had been before him and made off with one of 
his fattening hogs. 
His friends who had assisted in the hunt were seized 
with uncanny fear of this mysterious beast, and vowed 
they would hunt him no more. They were satisfied if 
they reaped harm themselves. They gathered close 
around the fire and told the fantastic tales .they had heard 
about the strange wolf. In the pauses they listened if 
he would perchance howl outside the door. But the 
mournful silence of the frozen night was upon the 
woods. No wild thing moved there unless it was the 
great wolf, and, unlike the others, he was never heard 
to herald his coming with those horrible wolfish cries. 
Perhaps the cowardly wretches only did it to keep up 
their own courage as a timorous boy whistles in the dark 
when he is afraid. They told how the people over on 
Bullit's Lick said that when the great wolf snuffed 
under the doors the candles flared and flickered and 
went out in his fierce breath. John Dunn said nothing, 
but nursed his wrath, and watched the candles. But they 
burned steadily. The wolf came no more that night. 
The next day John Dunn, with all his men, worked 
hard enlarging'his barn, making a great log pen-fold in 
which to house all his live stock, and which he fondly 
hoped would resist the attack of the savage destroyer. 
The superstitious fear of his companions could not help 
impressing him, and their talk about the beast annoyed 
him. The sun 'was setting- before they completed their 
"I've hunted and trapped all kinds of varmints, and I 
know a wolf from a wolf," said one sententiously. _ 
"Yes," said another. "Look how red the sun is set- 
ting. 'He' will do some harm to-night, mind what I 
tell you." . , . »u »> 
They no longer called the animal a wolf; it was he. 
Leaving them to place the last logs in place, John 
Dunn set off to drive up the stock. Their foolish talk 
irked him. As he strode across the crusted snow the 
shadows thickened. The acute cold made the trees 
crack From across the field came crisply through the 
keen air the' crash of brittle stalks, snapped by the 
cattle feeding at the fodder stack. The ever thickening 
ice upon the creek at intervals rumbled hollowly, as if 
the stream rested uneasily in its bed under its icy 
mantle, and was troubled witli dreams; No other sounds 
disturbed the frozen silence of the -Solitudes. He wrm-, 
dered where the gfeat wolf was, and stopped to listen if 
in that intense silence he might not hear the animal- 
howl somewhere on the far mountain side. But there 
was something frightening and strange about the de- 
serted woods. It seemed as if all the wild animals that 
usually tenanted them had fled away, not from the cold, 
but before the advent of that great grizzly apparition. 
His friends' talk did not seem so silly now. 
He had just started on his way again, his mind 
troubled, when out from the woods before him a great 
shape passed, gray as the gray shadows. It was the 
beast. He stopped where he stood, and a shock' of 
sudden terror shook him. 
But it was only for a moment. The dread prowler, 
with eyes only for its quarry, glided swiftly over the 
intervening space, with a sound as faint as the soft 
rustling of dead leaves upon the snow, and with a great 
spring launched its lank form through the air. The af- 
frighted cattle ran together in a bunch, but the fattest 
one of them all lay struggling supinely stretched upon 
the snow, ham-strung and with the great wolf at its 
throat. 
Passing abruptly from fear to anger John Dunn shook 
with inordinate rage. It was pure bravado by the 
monster, an insult direct, a defiance. Clenching his 
hands until the nails sank into the palms, he darted 
forward swiftly, and was upon the wolf before it saw 
him. With bristling hair, the beast sprang up from its 
slaughtered victim, its back arched, its eyes gleaming 
like lambent points of flame. The fodder stack was 
behind it, and it could not escape. John Dunn could 
have yelled for joy. He raised his hand — it held nothing 
but the whip with which he had started out to drive the 
cattle. Hurling it from hira he threw himself bare- 
handed upon the monster. It snapped at him as he did 
so, but eluding the vicious jaws, he seized it by the 
throat. Wildly the fierce animal struggled with the 
strength of twenty wolves, but he felt himself strong 
enough in his rage to strangle two such murderous 
marauders, one in either hand. He laughed, rejoicing 
madly, as he tightened that terrible grasp until the 
monster's eyes rolled blood-shotted in its head, and its 
breathings ceased altogether with its struggles. At last 
its body was lax. The gray wolf was dead! 
There are no wolves in Kentucky now. And there are 
no pioneers. Many of their decadent descendants su- 
perciliously doubt that either such men or wolves ever 
existed; but the house is there, and in a quiet corner 
of the burying ground, beneath his grass-grown mound, 
the old Indian fighter who built it sleeps on undisturbed 
by the doubts of a scoffing generation, _ who owes its 
present ease and comfort to him and his companion.s, 
who made such changed conditions possible in the dark 
and bloody ground. 
All of John Dunn's sons seemed possessed by the 
same restless instinct which had actuated their ancestor. 
They were born pioneers. With every inducement to 
remain in Kentucky, a home unsurpassed in comfort and 
elegance at the time, surrounded by slaves, broad and 
fertile fields theirs for the asking, that nomadic spirit 
which had impelled their progenitor to cross the Alle- 
ghanies and penetrate the wilds with Boone, was strong 
in them, and one after another they left the old home 
as soon as they arrived of age. Some of them penetrated 
into the unknown North, where their descendants still 
reside about Darlington, Wisconsin; others crossed the 
Mississippi, and were among the California pioneers 
before the great gold rush began. In his will, John 
Dunn provided that the home place, with 500 acres in the 
Blue Lick valley, should not be sold or divided with the 
rest of his estate, but retained intact for the benefit of 
any of his children who should desire to return there to 
live. But none of them ever came back. All his chil- 
dren are dead now, and his only lineal descendants living 
in Kentuckv are Mr. B. B. Ball and John Thompson, 
who still live in Bullit, and who are sons of his two 
daughters, Ann and Sarah. Throughout the great West 
John Dunn's descendants are scattered like those of 
so many other Kentucky pioneers, and who, Hke their 
ancestors before them, have devoted their hves to con- 
quering the wilderness, moving ever westward, and build- 
ing up the great empire, whose prevailing spirit certainly 
is one of constant annexation, and which is now reach- 
ing out to grasp the Phillipines for a new generation of 
pioneers. Francis J. Hagan. 
A California Game Sale Test Case. 
Several counties in the State have adopted ordinance.^ 
prohibiting the shipment elsewhere for sale of any kind 
of game killed within their limits. The object of these 
prohibitory laws purports to be the preservation of game 
from extermination by the market-hunter. The passage 
of each of these ordinances was, however, stmiulated by 
the sportsmen's clubs, which secured therebj^ a virtual 
monopoly of the right to shoot, game not intended for 
sale being free for shipment. , r • i 
Stanislaus is one of the counties in the San Joaquin val- 
ley that adopted the ordinance, and the Hunters' Union 
of Merced county decided to test its constitutionality. 
One of its members, consequently, deliberately attempted 
to ship from Newman a pair of ducks shot within the 
county and intended for sale outside of it. His arrest and 
his trial and conviction and a nominal sentence by a jus- 
tice of the peace followed, according to prearrangement. 
An appeal was taken to the Superior Court, and that tri- 
bunal has rendered a decision sustaining the constitution- 
ality of the ordinance, on the ground that the kilhng of 
game is a police regulation not in conflict with the Con- 
stitution. The Court also holds that the powers of the 
Supervisors are derived direct from the Constitution and 
not through the agency of any statute. 
Of course, the Hunters' Union wdl carry the case to the 
Supreme Court, for the vei-y life of the occupation pi the 
market-hunter depends upon the result. If the ordinance 
stands the test in the court of final resort, hh occupation 
will have gone, for what with club preserves covering the 
natural haunts of game and an inabiUty to ship out of the 
county for sale any game which he may kill outside of the 
preserves, he will have no chance to make ilving. We are 
getting dangerously close to the obnoxious game laws of 
the Old World.— San Francisco Chronicle, Nov. t8. 
