222 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 21, 1903. 
In the Yellowstone Park. 
Yellowstone National Park, March 7. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: There is nothing much new here except 
snow. News we get from the outside (it's the same old 
thing, only more so). As to game, antelope are now 
being fed in several places. Major John Pitcher is 
feeding mountain sheep and deer in Gardiner Cafion, 
close to the wagon road. A start was made to feed 
antelope, sheep and deer higher up on MacMinn Bench, 
but the elk drove every other animal away and de- 
voured the hay. Major Pitcher established the present 
feeding place close to the wagon road with the object 
in view for only mountain sheep, and to keep any pos- 
sible elk away a scare crow, or, rather a "scare elk," 
was put up. This is an old suit of clothes stuf?ed with 
hay, with extended arms, a red bandana handkerchief 
at one hand and a white rag at the other. There is 
an old white hat on the end of this stuffed object. 
Close by there is a portable engine, a rock crusher, 
conveyor, platform and shoots. The engine and boiler 
are covered with flapping canvas. The mountain sheep 
have found the hay, also two domestic goats that have 
run wild ever since they were kids a few weeks old. 
All the animals feed together and show no fear at all 
of men or teams. Major Pitcher drove down there 
last Friday for some photographs. In the wagon were 
several people. He found about 30 mule deer, 23 
sheep and the two goats. Only a few of the animals 
were eating, most of them were lying around. Now and 
then some would get up and eat a while, "mosying 
around." The deer were keening the best lookout. 
The sheep looked very sleepy and paid no attention 
at all to the party. The goats were the most timid of 
all the animals, still they did not care for the people; 
they were more afraid of the other animals. Some 
of the deer and sheep were close to the "scare crow." 
It is stuffed- with hay, care being used to prevent the 
animals getting at it. Were there any holes they would 
eat the stuffing out of it. When I first saw this scare 
crow I could not make out the object of its being 
placed there, for it was evident that none of the ani- 
mals were afraid of it, even when the wind blows its 
rags and flags in rather a wild and threatening manner. 
The deer and sheep will pass close enough to be 
brushed by the scare crow. Sheep get up on the plat- 
form and crusher and lie there, using it as a desirable 
outlook. The Major's team drove close to the cutbank, 
and within less than 15 feet of the nearer animals. 
Here the team was stopped and several exposures 
were made. Conversation was carried on and remarks 
were made in an ordinary tone of voice. The sheep 
hardly looked at the outfit. The team would be moved 
up for a different view; still the animals did not pay 
any especial attention, attending to their business as 
unconcerned as though they were hundreds of miles 
from the sight or sound of men. Freight teams are 
often passing, mail coaches, buckboards, buggies, 
horsemen and men afoot. 
I have lived more or less with wild creatures about 
me for the past thirty years, yet I am filled with won- 
der and surprise at the remarkable changes in the 
habits of the wild (?) game around here. True, the 
change has been going on for a number of years, but 
the result at the present time is a constant surprise td 
me. 
Major Pitcher learned when he first came here that 
all the deer kind, sheep and antelope, preferred alfalfa 
hay to any other kind; and they are now getting that 
only. The feeding place in front of the houses at Ft. 
Yellowstone is growing in popularity every day. On 
March 5, at 6:15 P. M., I counted 59 deer. I thought 
that was all. At 6:23 I saw 3 more bucks "coming 
a-running." Later others came, until it got dark. 
Saturday evening at 6:30, 77 deer were feeding here, 
and how many more came later I can't say. There 
are often a few all the afternoon, going and coming, 
but about an hour before sundown they "come a-run- 
ning" from all directions. Those that spend the day 
in the timber back of the post, take the shortest cuts 
between the buildings, where they have regular trails. 
Others come across the flats, while many follow the 
wagon roads. Strangers are not always welcomed. 
There is more or less scrapping among them, but the 
strangers are persistent, and in a few days belong to 
the band, and are as ready as the oldest to stare at any 
newcomers. The animals at all the feeding places are 
constantly increasing in number, as new ones find out 
there is food for them. 
It is a fine lesson in natural history to watch them. 
They are so fearless of man that their actions are 
as natural as possible. When one wishes to drive an- 
other from a bunch of hay it approaches with its ears 
laid fiat back, like an angry cat or horse. If the other 
does not move off it lays its ears back and there is a 
bit of a scrap. They make a few passes at each other, 
striking straight out in front. If one does not give 
the ground up they both go on their hind legs and 
strike at each other. This lasts only a few seconds 
before one quits and walks away. There is no real 
fighting, only little scraps and short quarrels. Many of 
the bucks have shed their horns; some have full heads. 
Now and then one is seen with only one horn. They 
commence to drop their horns about the loth of Feb- 
ruary. 
If the weather holds cold we expect to see many, 
over 100 at one time, feeding in front of the quarters. 
Buffalo (C. J.) Jones and his brother, N. C. Jones, 
have trapped three mountain lions each. This, with 
the one shot by Scout Holt, makes seven to date. 
Still there are a large number left. Mr. C. J. Jones 
is after a very large one. He hopes to capture him 
Sunday, the 8th. He only is able so far to capture 
them on a Sunday, that being his "medicine day." 
The big fellow which he is after has killed 15 elk, all 
young (yearling) bulls, 12 of them in a space of less 
than half an acre. Mr. Jones says the lion lies in a 
quaking asp grove and kills the elk as they come down 
to lie in the shelter of the grove. 
Mr. Jones has seen between 35 and 40 elk carcasses 
killed by mountain lions, and all were young bulls, ex- 
cept one of a cow and one of an old bull. Buffalo 
Jones last Sunday (March i) found a small lion in one 
of his traps, caught by one front foot. This was up 
on the east fork of Gardiner River. He hog-tied the 
lion, then with the aid of the trap chain, some wire and 
a lever held its head down until he fastened a wire 
around its jaws so that it could not bite, and held the 
wire in place with strings passing back and around its 
neck. When everything was secure he brought it 
into the post in front of him on his horse, sometimes 
carrying it in his arms. He has him chained up in a 
loft of a small barn. Both the Jones brothers are hard 
workers and enterprising in the effort to kill off some 
of the lions around here. 
The lions were never so bad before, they having in- 
creased for several years. So far all the lions killed 
have been on and along the skirts of Mt. Everts, where 
the mountain sheep and so much other game find their 
winter range. Major Pitcher is particularly anxious 
to keep the lions killed off so that the sheep will find 
a safe refuge in Gardiner Canon. With this end in 
view he has secured a pack of hounds trained solely 
for the purpose of hunting lions. These dogs will 
never be turned loose except when hunting that animal. 
The lion pack is expected to arrive here in a few days. 
Private Fitch came in from the Lake Station Fri- 
day and reports having seen 19 of the wild herd of 
time we landed the Indians told wonderful stories of a 
giant bear, Avhich, owing to one of its feet being larger 
than the others, they had named 'Club Foot.' Club 
Foot was a terror to the natives — he had not only 
whipped all the animals of his species out of the 
neighborhood, but he had also wounded and killed 
several Indians. With their crude arms, the people 
had been unable to kill him, which led to the super- 
stitious belief that he had a charmed life; so they had 
ceased to contest his supremacy. They warned us to 
beware of Club Foot, for he was sure death to whom- 
ever he met. 
"The reward of $50 which I offered for his skin was 
no inducement to them whatever, and I soon saw that 
if I was to secure his hide I must kill him myself. 
While I knew from the stories that Club Foot must be 
an enormous fellow, I did not fully realize the truth of 
their statements until one evening while trailing deer 
I came across his track. It was a huge track indeed, 
measuring 14 inches in length. It led into a large 
opening, surrounded by timber. There was a stream 
running through the open, and luxuriant weeds and 
grass 5 feet high grew upon its banks. I had no more 
than reached the center of the park, when Club Foot 
arose upon his haunches from among the weeds. As 
we glared at each other my heart sank from fright, for 
he towered fully three feet above my head, and looked 
every bit as large and dangerous as the Indians had 
depicted him. If I had had a modern rifle I would 
SOME OF MAJOR PITCHER S PETS, 
Wild deer at Mammoth Hot Springs, in the Yellowstone National Park. Photo by Major John Pitcher. 
military post in the background. 
The buildings of the 
buffalo in the Pelican Creek country and a great many 
elk. In two bands he saw there were over 700. He re- 
ports all the animals as being in fine condition. 
Sergeant Davenport, from the Snake River Station, 
reports the snow very deep around the station — 6 to 
7 feet — and deep snow all the way down into Jack- 
son's Hole. The elk are very numerous. Bands are 
seen of 300 and 400. He says that they are smashing 
into the ranchers' hay corrals and fenced fields in 
search of food. 
Complaint comes to Major Pitcher from some of the 
ranchmen along the northern boundary of the Park 
that elk from the Park are breaking down their fences 
and into their corrals, doing considerable damage. The 
State of Montana should permit the domestication of 
these elk so that the ranchmen could get some com- 
pensation for their losses, as the elk are the property 
of the State when they cross the line. 
At the Grader's Camp, less than half a mile from 
the town of Gardiner, three mule deer have taken up 
their quarters. They hang around the camp all the 
time, eating potato peelings, bread and other stuff 
thrown out by the cook; they have been there for a 
long time. The kitchen door is their favorite part of 
the camp. The camp is down on Gardiner River, close 
to the old Turkey Pen Road, and is in charge of 
Mitchell Askey. E. Hofer. 
The Death of Club Foot. 
On a slight rise of ground, somewhat higher than the 
business portion of Juneau, stands the little cottage of 
Richard Williby. "Old Dick Williby," as he is called, 
is known all over Alaska. He came to the territory in 
1862, five years before it was purchased by the United 
States, and was probably the first American to make 
a permanent home there. At that time the site now oc- 
cupied by the town of Juneau, was a complete wilder- 
ness, and the old man has watched that wilderness grow 
into a thriving village of 1,864 inhabitants. During 
this period he had been "below," to the States, but 
once, and then only for a few weeks. He speaks the 
Indian language as fluently as the natives themselves. 
When I made Dick's acquaintance, in August, 1901, 
he was feeble from old age, and had frequent attacks 
of asthma. I spent many interesting hours looking 
out of his front window over the bay, while he related 
experiences of his early life. One of his most thrilling 
tales was the killing of a huge Alaskan brown bear 
that for many years had practically ruled the region it 
inhabited. 
"During the summer of 1884," the old-timer began, 
"in company with my partner Jim, I prospected for gold 
on Admiralty Island, a large wooded and mountainous 
island some fifteen miles west of Juneau. From the 
have attacked him without hesitation, but with the 
unreliable weapons used in those days it would not 
have been safe. I rammed another ball into my old 
muzzleloading rifle, and looked about for a tree to 
climb, but there was none nearer than a hundred yards. 
After eyeing me for a few seconds, every one of which 
seemed an hour, the bear for some unaccountable rea- 
son dropped to his feet and slowly sauntered into the 
timber, and I had not the nerve to fire. 
"Not long after this incident several hunters from 
Juneau heard of Club Foot, and came over to carry 
back his skin, but when I showed them his tracks they 
came to the conclusion that they had not lost any 
bear, and returned satisfied, as they had seen enough 
of him. 
"While prospecting late that fall I again ran across 
the tracks of the old fellow and followed them up the 
side of a steep mountain, then into a cave in the rocks. 
I knew at once that this was his den, so hastened back 
to notify Jim. A band of Indians was camped about a 
day's journey from us, and we concluded that it was 
best to get some of them with their dogs before at- 
tacking the bear. So I set out the next morning to 
hunt them up. I found the camp, and told them in 
their own language that I had located the den of Club 
Foot. The Chief, whom we called Bob, walked up 
and down in front of his tent for some time deliberat- 
ing. 'Club Foot has killed and injured several of my 
people,' he finally said; *he must die; my men are 
brave; my dogs are brave, and I want the honor of kill- 
ing Club Foot. I am the chief of my tribe, and I want 
to be chief of the party.' I told him that all I wished 
for was the skin of the bear, and if he would persuade 
his braves to accompany me with their dogs I would 
give them the meat of Club Foot and allow him to be 
chief of the expedition. He agreed to this, and ordered 
three of his best braves and their squaws to be ready 
to return with me in the morning. I was awakened 
several times by the monotonous tum-tum of their 
drums as they made 'good medicine' for those that 
were to take part in the hunt. They decorated them- 
selves with their gayest paint and feathers, and early 
the following morning we left for my camp. In the mean- 
time a heavy snow had fallen, and we were compelled 
to use snowshoes. 
"The next day we made our way to Club Foot's den. 
There were Jim and myself and Chief Bob and three of 
his braves and five of their best bear dogs. As we neared 
the cliff where the old bear lived I told the Indians that 
they knew better than I what a dangerous animal the 
bear was, and that we must keep together and shoot 
true and rapid or some of us would be killed. Chief 
Bob led the dogs to the entrance of the cave. They 
growled, and the hair on their backs bristled, but they 
refused to enter. The chief had boasted that they were 
the best dogs on the island, and not afraid of anything. 
