ApjRiL I§, 1903,1 
the Indians. How that run was ever found out SQ soon, 
sent East, and published and back before I had finished 
- .the journey, who reported it and to whom, I never could 
imagine. 
I remained at the Cantonment until in the fall, or late 
summer, trading with the Indians and soldiers, and look- 
ing after the mail from Tongue River to Fort Buford, 
when I again took the trail toward the headwaters of the 
Yellowstone on a hunting and trapping expedition. 
Coon Tail. 
Letters to a Chum. — L 
Chicago, September 22. — Dear Clark: Here we are 
home again after one of the most delightful hunts I ever 
experienced, but it is good to get home again. After all, 
the best part of going awaj' is the coming back. 
Well, old pard, I feel almost guilty of something in 
going away for a good time without you. I felt one- 
sided all the time I was gone — my right-hand man was 
absent. I felt mighty queer about it, too; didn't seem 
right, somehow. I needed my old partner every daj'. I 
hope I will have him again next time. Here is how it 
happened : 
Last fall when you and I returned from our Utah 
hunt I told my wife about our good time, and the won- 
derful things we had seen. She was greatly interested in 
my stories, and I sure had some good ones to tell, as yoit 
know. We did have a good time and no mistake. I got 
carried away with enthusiasm in the telling, but didn't 
romance so very much — didn't have to, you know. She 
listened with wide eyes when I told of our adventure on 
Old Ben Mountain, and when I'd finished my yarn, she 
says : "Why don't you take me with you on some of 
your trips?" I said: "I'd like to, if I thought you could 
stand it, but we rough it too much for a lady. We make 
long journeys over rough country, sleep outdoors, eat 
anything we happen to have, get our clothes pretty dirty, 
get dog tired, and have an all around good time for men ; 
but it don't seem just the thing for a lady. You would 
gel sick of it the first day and want to go home." 
"No," she says, "I wouldn't do any such thing. I could 
stand it as well as you can. You know that I could walk 
as far as you can. I would keep my clothes cleaner than 
you do yours, and I can excel you in frying trout, broil- 
ing venison or making hot bread. I can shoot and I can 
calch fish." 
Now, this was all true, and of course I had to admit it. 
Still, I was not con\anced; but it was a long time till 
next time — a year — and I thought she would probably 
forget all about it before that time or change her mind. 
So I says, "All right, you get ready and I'll take you 
along on my next year's hunt." 
Rash words ! And spoken without consideration, but 
the edict had gone forth, and she held me to my promise. 
I don't believe there was a day of that year that she didn't 
say something about our trip. Such planning and such 
getting ready I never saw. She had her trunk packed 
four months before it was time to go, and then she 
thought of a lot of things that she didn't have which 
necessitated sundry trips down town. Then we had to 
have another trunk. 
She enjoyed the thing so much in anticipation, and I 
enjoyed seeing her enjoy it, that I don't know when I've 
had so much pleasure in getting ready for a hunt. 
We couldn't decide on a location for a long time. We 
studied the map of the United States together, and 
finally concluded that Colorado would about suit us. But 
what point in that State would we select? That was the 
rub. 
We wrote letters to the postmasters of about every out- 
of-the-way place we could pick out on the map, with ad- 
dressed and stamped envelopes for a reply. Soon the 
answers began to come in and then we were more puzzled 
than ever. There seemed so many good places to select 
from. Each one had some advantage that the others 
didn't ha\'e. We could only go to one of them, and 
wanted the best — didn't want to make any mistake, you 
know. 
Well, we finally sifted the places down to five, and I 
guess we never would have made a selection if it hadn't 
been that one of our correspondents said in his letter that 
he was a guide of many years' experience (so were the 
other four). He had a complete outfit — horses, wagon, 
saddle horses, tents, cooking outfit, etc. (The other four 
had the same). But this man said that he had a good 
bear and lion dog. That settled it. None of the others 
said a word about their dog — forgot it, I guess, 
Lem Crandall was his name, and he lived in De Beque, 
Colorado. I want to say right here that we made no mis- 
take in our guide. A better fellow never straddled a 
"boss." Tall, straight, and powerful, he seemed to know 
things by instinct. Eager and untiring in the hunt, 
modest and retiring in camp. But give him a pipe and 
good tobacco over the camp-fire, after the labors of the 
day were o'er, draw him on carefully, and he could tell 
a story of adA^enture that would raise the hair on a dead 
man, and he didn't have to "make them up," either. He 
had had experience in his thirty years of roughing it. 
Well, the time finally came to start, though it was 
mighty hard waiting for it toward the last. In fact, we 
couldn't wait for the appointed time, but pulled out four 
days ahead of time and spent them sight-seeing at the 
show places in Colorado. 
On the morning of August 13 we alighted from the 
train (D. & R. G.) at Rifle, and found Lem awaiting us 
at the station, with everything all packed and loaded for 
an immediate start in to the hills, and it was not long 
till we were in the wagon on our way north. 
But, oh, what a day ! The dust enveloped us like a fog, 
while the sun beat down on us unmercifully. Lem said 
there hadn't been a drop of rain in that valley for two 
months, but that we would soon get out of the dust as we 
left the valley. This was encouraging, and I heard no 
word of complaint. For about two hours we stifled and 
cooked. Then we reached the foothills and entered a 
canyon where the trail followed the windings of a noisy, 
roaring little brook. As we advanced green trees filled 
the canyon and covered us with a grateful shade. A 
cooling breeze sifted down from some cool mountain top, 
the quaking aspen whispered to us overhead, while the 
brook sang us a lullaby at our feet. Birds sang in the 
tree tops, and mountain trout sported in the stream. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
What, shall .Ii^y. of such a place? I cannot tell its 
beauties. 1 hi v/oit to yo'.:' ^>i=i<agination. There was only 
one drawlx -:-jnr!-f.o roadlJ' - •' .11 uphill. We had a splen- 
did team o;. • • ..ould nrW ''have got to the head of that 
creek. :>j^t o oi9 
Dismountiflifc'»''rom th{F\i^kgon, we walked ahead, leaving 
the team and>.' ver to follow as fast as they could. Get- 
ting out of <• nt and hearing of the wagon, we seated 
ourselves on a handy log and drank in the surrounding 
beauties. Never had nature made a more beautiful spot, 
nor a more pleasant. It is beyond me to describe it. I 
will take you there some day and show it to you. 
On we went, and up we went, forgetting to feel tired 
or weary in that wonderful place. Long before we were 
ready for it darkness came upon us, and we pulled into a 
little valley across the creek, where there was a good 
place to camp, with plenty of grass for the horses. Then 
we were all busy. Wood to get, fire to build, tent to 
.set up. Then supper. Oh, how good it tasted! No time 
that night to try for trout, the dark caught us before we 
were aware of it. But the next morning I was out at 
the peep of day, determine '^j to have fish for breakfast. 
A white frost lay on e ::rything, and our water pail 
had a scum of ice over it. What a change from yester- 
day in the valley! Hastily putting a rod together, and 
selecting a light colored fly, I started down stream. It 
seemed a joke to fish in such a little stream. It was 
about six feet wide by two deep. There were fish in 
there, though ; I saw them, and they saw me, too, I guess, 
lor I had no luck. Two fingerlings looked lonesome in 
my basket when warned by the sun peeping over the hill 
that it was time to go to breakfast. 
Walking up the trail that we had come over the night 
before, I saw a fresh deer track crossing the road, with 
one hoof mark in our wheel track. I was feeling cold, 
hungry and desolate, but when I saw that track my pulse 
M-ent up, and my heart rejoiced again, as I eagerly 
scanned the hills for a sight of him, but he was not 
visible. 
Reaching camp I found breakfast ready, and a big 
bright fire that warmed my shins and dried my wet gar- 
ments. The bay horse was at camp eating his oats, but 
the gray had not come in with him, so I went out to 
look for him. 
Going out in the direction the other had come from, I 
gave a call to him, and heard an answering whicker up 
among the trees, and presently Old Gray came hobbling 
out into sight 200 yards away. But what a sight! He 
could not walk. His leg was broken or his shoulder out 
of joint. I couldn't tell what was the matter with him. 
When he saw me he whickered again so pitifully that I 
could not bear to- look at him. My heart went awaj-^ 
down into my boots. Good, honest, faithful Old Gray 
suffering like that! How will we get on without you? 
One horse can never pull us up those hills, and the sad- 
dle horses are forty miles away, up at our permanent 
camp. 
I hardly had the courage to go up and look at him. I 
hcsitated_ and turned back to get Lem. Then, getting my 
wits again, I went on and Old Gray hobbled on to meet 
me. Poor old fellow ! He talked to me in horse 
language, trying to tell me about it, and a sob came into 
my throat as I went up to him. Then I stopped and 
stared. Then I laughed and shouted as I hadn't done for 
many a day. Old Gray had his front feet tied together 
with a rope. 
Clark, did you ever think you were falling off a preci- 
pice — down, down to sure death, and just as you struck 
bottom, wake up to find yourself in a nice warm bed and 
everj'thing all right? That's how I felt. 
Bundling our camp into the wagon we joyously went 
on our way, up and up, hill after hill, always following 
the crooks of the creek. Lem said that this forenoon 
would be our hardest pull, that we would all have to 
walk for about ten miles, then we would be on top of the 
mesa and could all ride as much as we liked. 
So we trudged on cheerfully, my wife and I in the lead ; 
now through a box canyon with bare old rocks rearing their 
height a hundred feet above our heads, almost coming 
together at the top, now through a wooded dell, every 
tree set by a plumb-line so straight were they. Everv- 
where a deep dark green, only where Jack Frost had set 
his mark. Animal life everywhere. Strange birds that 
I had never seen before. A kind of bluejay and magpie, 
then a covey of mountain grouse trot out of the road and 
stand looking at us wonderingly. Luckily I had my .22 
short Winchester repeater in my hand with the magazine 
full of cartridges. _ There stands a grouse at forty feet in 
plain view ! Talcing a quick aim at his head I unhitch, 
and the grouse don't move. Then again, and again, with 
the same result. My wife titters behind me and I am 
becoming exasperated. Confound that bird ! I'll make 
him move, and aiming at his body I knock him over. 
Then turning on another I lay him out, but he dies hard 
and flutters around, making such a racket that the others 
are alarmed, and some fly while Others run off into the 
bushes. 
Gathering our birds as we go, we pick our Avay care- 
fully through the bushes, looking for another, but they 
are hard to see. Pretty soon my wife whispers, "There's 
one." "Where?" "There on that log." But I can't get 
my eye on him, so I hand the gun to her and she aims 
at him. Then I see him very plainly about a hundred feet 
away, the most conspicuous object in view. I hadn't 
looked high enough. Rose tries her best to hold the gun 
still, but the excitement has got into her veins and she 
wabbles. "Steady now." And she nerves herself, holds 
the gun steadily an instant and touches the trigger. Over 
goes the bird and I congratulate her on the shot, but v/e 
fail to gather him — nuist have been crippled and ran 
away, which makes Rose feel very badly. "Poor thing," 
she says. "I wish now I hadn't shot at him at all." I 
finally convince her that if it was a mortal wound he is 
dead by this time, but if it is a flesh wound he will be 
well in a few days, and her face clears. 
Lem and the team have pulled up opposite us and 
stopped. "What did you get?" he says. I hold up the 
two grouse. "How many was there?" he asks. "Oh, 
about a dozen or fifteen," I says. "Well," he says, "you 
ought to've got mor'n two of 'em. What was the matter 
— couldn't you hit 'em?" 
Now, 1 thought we had done pretty well. We had 
SOS 
f- I I — i irTmi ii I i n I i ,r , i i i rrm in i < 
enough meat for dinner ; .but after I had seen Lem 
operate on a covey of nine grouse for about nine seconds 
with that same gun, then go and pick up all of the nine, 
each shot through the head, I began to understand what 
could be done with a .22. 
On we went, up and up, the breath coming fast and 
loud, but we had no time to think of being tired. We 
were in fairyland, with thoughts only for the surround- 
ings. At each turn a new view bursts upon tis. Here a 
mighty monarch of the forest of magnificent proportions 
had fallen across the trail and some former traveler had, 
cut out a section of the bowl, making a passage for the 
wagon. What a splendid tree it must have been ! At 
least one hundred feet, perhaps more, and straight as an 
arrow. 
Further on we find a spring of clear, cold water gush- 
ing out of the rocks, making a streamlet across the trail 
down into the creek. We get out our pocket drinking 
cups and sample it. How good it tastes ! 
Look there! Just at the junction of the two streams in 
the mud, what tracks are those ? Good Lord ! they almost 
make my hair raise. I had never seen a bear track, but I 
had heard of them, and there they were, life-size, looking 
as if they had been made but a moment before. We 
glanced quickly around, half expecting to see him coming 
for us, and only a .22 to meet him with. 
"What's that?" my wife says in a hoarse whisper, hold- 
ing up her hands in a listening attitude. I hear a rattle 
down the creek, then a cheery "Go on there, Barney," and 
Lem comes into view with his puffing horses. 
Lem got down and examined the tracks. "Yes," he 
says, "that was a pretty sizable silver-tip. Must have 
gone along early this morning. No telling where he is 
row; up on the Macy, niebbe." 
"P'you notice that feller in the wagin we passed 'bout 
an 'our ago, with his arm in a sling and his head tied up? 
That was ol' man Harris. Lives back there a piece whar 
you see them hay stacks in the little bottom at the forks. 
Well, 'bout two weeks ago he was up here sum'ers lookin' 
after his cattle, an' he run across a little cub. Thought 
lie'd take 'im home, as the cub looked lonesome. No old 
bear around as he could see. So Harris got off his boss 
and caught the little cuss after a right smart run and 
started back to his boss. Didn't get fur, though, till 
he run right smack into the wust kind of trouble. The 
old bar was on him 'fore he know'd it. Well, this is the 
fust day he's been out. He tole me just now that the ole 
bar's hide was nailed up on the stable. Done it with his 
knife alone. He was a blamed ole fool, though, to tackle 
a cub at this time o' year 'thout shootin' the ole bar fust." 
Clark, it makes a tenderfoot feel funny to see in front 
of him a bear track about the size of a dishpan, and about 
two minutes old, and no gun handy. He feels like mak- 
ing a fool of himself right then and there by climbing a 
tree till things get settled. I went to the wagon and got 
out my .30-30 Savage and filled the magazine with 
soft-nose bullets. Then I felt better, but we walked along 
the wagon for awhile. 
All long roads come to an end if you follow them far 
enough, and about i P. M. we reached the topmost hilL 
And what a view opened to the vision ! 
Lem stopped the horses and said we could get in the 
wagon if we wished. You bet we were dead willing. My 
wife had walked with a quick and springy step all of that 
long steep climb, and never once complained of feeling 
tired. I don't believe I was ever more "beat out" than I 
was right then, but I kept it on the quiet. I guess we had 
both determined not to peep first. 
"Thar," says Lem, pointing to the southward, "is Man's 
Cap, seventy-five mile away, and here," pointing to north- 
east, "is Sleepy Cap, sixty mile away." 
Neither of the peaks looked to be over five or ten miles 
away, and both stood out clearly and plainly above all 
the other lesser mountains. 
Lem said that we would drive about a mile further, 
where we would find a good spring of water, and would 
camp there for dinner. 
Up at the spring we found a large camp, with several 
men lolling around in the warm sunshine. One of them 
came forward and asked if we had a permit to camp on 
Government land. Lem answered in the negative. So 
the man said that if we would walk over to his camp he 
would write us out one. 
This was something new, but the man said it was 
necessary; that he was a game warden with instructions 
to arrest anyone found camping without a permit. 
Luckily it only cost fifty cents, so we got the permit and 
went into camp about a quarter of a mile away in a grove 
of trees. 
Soon our coffee pot was boiling, but we didn't have any 
fried grouse that day. ' Lem had hidden them some- 
where, and whispered to me that the open season for 
grouse and deer did not begin till twelve o'clock that 
night (August 15). 
We had an abundance of tinned stuff, and it never 
tasted better. While we were eating our dinner a cowboy 
rode up on his pinto, and told us that a bear, a big silver- 
tip, had killed one of his steers the night before about a 
mile and a half from there, and that he had just seen him 
near the carcass. 
I was now full of courage, so I told Lem to hurry and 
unharness the horses so that we could ride out and get 
Mr. Bruin. But now occurred the first disagreement my 
wife and I had on the trip. She wanted to know what 
I was going to do. "Shoot the bear," I says. "Yes, and 
get all chewed up like the man we met in the wagon," she 
says. "Oh," I says, "there's no danger on a horse; be- 
sides, I'll kill him dead the first shot," "Like you did the 
grouse," she says. "You are not used to hunting bears 
and you shan't go ; besides the horses are tired now, and 
we've a long way to go yet to-day." 
Well, after some more argument, and after I'd promised 
to only go over and look at him, I gained a reluctant con- 
sent. Meanwhile, Lem had been pottering around, mak- 
ing no headway at all. He seemed very reluctant to 
start out for some reason, which surprised me mightily. 
He now beckoned me around behind the wagon and said : 
"See here, Mr. Paddock, if you say so we'll go and kill that 
bear, but I'm not in favor of it. My gun is up at the 
camp for one thing. I wanted to go as light as possible, 
so left everything there when I came away that I did not 
absolutely need. But my main reason is that the bear'a 
