BIO' i 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Dec. 23, 1905. 
many things to look into when he was out, and as he 
was so deliberate in his travels, we thought he would be 
late getting back. When morning came and he did not 
get in to breakfast Enochs asserted confidently that Jack 
had gone home to his folks, that he had either gone back 
to the bosom of his family, or that he had been gathered 
in even closer than that by some of the old folks in that 
vicinity. We had intended to break camp that morning, 
but by popular vote we decided to put off moving until 
the next day. We would give Jack twenty-four hours 
grace. The day passed, and, as we sat down to supper in 
the evening, we had about given over ever seeing him 
again. ; . 1 
While I greatly regretted losing Irim in one way, I was 
not so sorry in another. 1 believed he could take care of 
himself in the woods unless he was discovered by some 
hunter, but if lie came across a man or a house, he would 
show no fear and would doubtless be shot on sight. On 
the other hand, if I took him back with me to town 1 
had my fears for his future, i was occupied with thest 
thoughts when we sat down to our little table in the hut, 
with the lantern hung above it to illuminate our spread 
of venison steaks, potatoes, hot biscuits and sundries. 
We were all very hungry, and on the point of attack, 
when the dogs gave a short alarm, the door w'as pushed 
in with a slam, and here was our bear. As he entered 
and saw us he favored us with the loudest bawl I ever 
heard him make, his eyes shone with green fire, and he 
arose on his hind feet as he made a rush for the table. 
I filled a plate with whatever was nearest, and some of 
it was hot. 1 had to push him from the table with my 
feet until I got him to see the plate full upon the floor. 
Wherever Jack had spent the thirty-six hours — the two 
full days and night of his wanderings he had apparently- 
had nothing of material consequence to eat. He was now 
ravenous to the superlative degree. He ignored all other 
matters, while he concentrated his soul upon whatever . i 
could get upon his plate or within bis reach. My promp 
catering was. all that saved him from charging upon tlv 
table. 1 had never known him to exhibit so much ferocity 
He would have fought anyone or anything that stood be- 
tween him and food. He had grown so gaunt that he 
seemed about as long again as he should be in his nor- 
mal condition. He snapped at and bolted his food, such 
of it as was very hot he slapped angrily to one side. 
When he looked up, to see if more was forthcoming, his 
eyes flashed green in the lantern light. 
After a little, however, he began to eat more deliber- 
ately, his voracity moderated, and in a few moments he 
was comparatively satisfied and we put him out while we 
finished our own supper, minus the portion contributed 
to Jack. All things considered, it had not taken a pro- 
digious quantity to satisfy him, but what he required he 
demanded in a hurry'. When we got to the tent for the 
evening we found Jack there with the dogs in a very 
peaceful and playful mood, although he was too tired to 
hold out very long at a romp. He soon lay asleep by the 
fire, although we noticed that he would, at times, jerk 
his feet and start, while he would breathe quicker and 
snort, as dogs will when they dream. He had evidently 
had his troubles in his long ramble in the mountains. It 
would have been worth something to hear about his ad- 
ventures if he could have told about them. 
In the evening we talked about bears, the subject having 
come up when I reminded Enochs that possibly the big 
one he was after had lost his patience and had been to 
camp the day before looking for him, his blankets having 
been shaken out and more widely distributed than other 
things from the tent. He replied by saying he thought 
his bear record would tally up with mine. 
“Not quite,” I replied. “I have a record; yours is to 
get.” 
“Have you killed a bear?” he inquired. 
“Killed a bear ! I killed my first bear twelve years ago, 
when I was fourteen, and the bear was about the same 
age, or a few years older.” 
“When did you kill your last one?” 
“Same time. Same bear.” 
“Well, then, if it isn’t another echo story. Let it go, if 
it isn’t too long-winded. If you get to guessing at things, 
though, I’ll go to bed.” 
“I’ve heard of that bear; story’s all right,” said Dick. 
Since I had told Enochs about the echoes in the Santa 
Cruz Mountains Enochs demanded vouchers for most of 
my statements. He had very little discrimination, and 
this fault of his made him suspicious. I had to assure 
him that this story was absolutely pure. 
“If necessary, this story can be proved by the annals 
of a Methodist church. The entire congregation at a 
Methodist revival camp then at Bell’s ranch on Clear 
Creek, Shasta county. State of California, SS. — Bell, J. 
J. Bell was proprietor, and personally conducted a road- 
side hotel, a toll-bridge, a stage station and a large ranch 
of 2,700 acres. I helped Bell run these things for two 
years. We had half a dozen men, but he and I had most 
of the trouble and responsibility. I had most of the 
trouble and he made most of the fuss. 
“Bell had so much live stock on the ranch that it took 
all the money he made with his hotel and toll-bridge to 
feed the stock, and he made about $50 a day. He had 
horses — several hundred of them — mules, cattle, goats. 
sheep, hogs, a pack of variegated dogs, and every kind of 
domestic fowl known. None of these things paid for 
(heir food; he only kept them because he couldn’t sell 
them, lose them, nor kill them off as fast as they in- 
creased. Whenever any of his stock matured and reached 
market value, some one else drove it off, it died, or some- 
thing happened to prevent his getting any profit from it. 
“The men on the place had to get up in the night to 
feed and care for the animals, and at daybreak that ranch 
roared like the crowd at a college football massacre — 
only it lasted all the time. As soon as Bell got out after 
breakfast trouble of all kinds thickened. Horses kicked 
the hostlers through the side of the barn, cows kicked the 
milk pails over the fence, the calves got out, the hogs 
got into the garden, the dogs got after the sheep, the 
goats butted in everywhere, while Bell yelled about every- 
thing like a steam calliope. Nothing on the ranch would 
either stand up, lie down or stay put. When the live 
stock quieted down a little sometimes. Bell was sure to 
get into a riot with travelers who objected to paying toll. 
It was so busy at this ranch that I only saved my life 
by sneaking off at every opportunity with an old target 
rifle and going hunting. This rifle weighed about thirty 
pounds, owing to the weight of the barrel, which was 
very long, two inches in diameter, and was only bored for 
a round ball the size of a buckshot. When I fired it I 
Lad to sit down and rest it upon my knee or find a log 
or stump. It would shoot to the dot wherever it was 
held; the hard part of it was to carry it, or hold it. 
“After carrying that gun perhaps a thousand miles I 
had killed two or three deer. Deer were not very scarce 
at that time, and I saw plenty of them in my trips, but 
by the time I could find a place to rest the gun, or sit 
down and get the muzzle of it sufficiently elevated, the 
deer would suspect something and trot away into the 
woods. The deer I managed to kill I got by lying in wait 
for them at a salt-lick. About four miles from the ranch 
was a spring known as the Spanish Spring. It was the 
only water, late in summer, for a large area of dry hills 
which were densely covered with oak, chaparral and 
manzanita thickets. It was in the valley foothills and a 
few deer watered there. 
“One morning I got up about two hours before day- 
break and set off for the spring, which I reached by the 
time it was light enough to see to shoot. On the way ,I 
had come upon two or three deer, but it was too dark to 
see to shoot them, or shoot at them. Finding a thicket 
of low bushes on the hillside about fifty yards from the 
spring I hid myself and patiently watched and waited. 
“The sun came up, it began to get hot, and nothing- 
had come to the water but some quail and a lot of half- 
wild hogs. I grew drowsy and tired of watching while 
sitting quietly in one position, and I lay back and before 
I realized it was fast asleep. I slept perhaps an hour 
when I was roused by the flying and chattering of the 
quail, and as I looked toward the spring I saw the hogs 
scooting down the gulch from the water. 
“On the opposite hill a deer trail came down to the 
spring from the dense chaparral, and now, as I glanced 
in that direction, I saw a sight that caused me to rub my 
eyes and stare stupidly. I felt chilly there on the hot 
hillside as I saw a bear, and a very large one, coming 
leisurely down the trail. No mistake; it was a bear sure 
enough ; and the way he slouched along with ponderous 
indifference, swinging his gr«»t head from side to side, 
made me feel very bashful and reticent. There was not 
supposed to be a bear within fifty miles of this place — • 
none had been heard of for twenty years or more. 
“My first impulse was to go away from there with the 
least flourish possible. Then I reflected that I had the 
‘wind’ of him, had a rest for my ponderous rifle, and that 
irow or never was my opportunity to kill a bear. I hesi- 
tated, and then I decided that I would not sneak for it. 
As I got into position to shoot I had a vague notion that 
if he came for me I would leave there without ceremony 
and go up the first tree that I could reach without any 
foolishness. 
“As he approached the spring I saw that beyond ques- 
tion he was a genuine bear, larger than I wanted, very 
tough and mighty serious in the expression of his coun- 
tenance. He glanced to neither side nor in my direction 
but lumbered down the hill steadily until he reached the 
gully, and then he commenced to lap the water. Slowly 
and cautiously I raised the heavy rifle up, up a little more 
until I had the bead in line with his ear, then I let it 
settle a trifle and touched the trigger. The rifle cracked 
but little louder than a firecracker, but it was a spiteful 
little report. The great creature sank into the gully and 
was hidden by a clump of willows that shook a little; 
there was not a sound nor a sign of a disturbance. What 
was he doing? 
“Fearing my shot had been a miss I now began to get 
excited as I reloaded. It was not a case of throwing in 
a fresh cartridge — the work of an instant with a modern 
arm — but I had to draw the plug from my powder horn, 
pour the powder in a buckhorn charger, empty this in the 
small bore of the gun, reach in my pouch for a ball and 
a patch, fit these in the muzzle, draw out the ramrod and 
drive the bullet down. The bullet often stuck in the 
muzzle when the patch was a trifle thick or dry, and in 
this instance I had to use the ‘starter’ — a short stick the 
size of the bore witli which to get the bullet well started 
into the barrel. The bullet rammed home, until the ram- 
rod would rebound from the bore. I next had tO' get a 
percussion cap from a metal box — Eley’s waterproof caps 
— fit this to the nipple by pressing it in place with the 
hammer, and then set the trigger and pull back the 
hammer, and I was ready to fire. .Sixteen shots can easily 
be fired from a Winchester rifle while a muzzle-loader 
can be made ready for a single shot. 
“Meantime I had kept an eye in the direction of the 
spring, whence neither sound nor sign had come. I was 
now so intensely interested as to be almost excited” 
‘Well, there wasn’t very much at stake,” put in Enochs, 
“if the bear had got you it wasn’t so very much; and I 
see he didn’t even do that.” 
“No,” I had to admit, “it wasn’t so much, but it was 
a personal matter -with me. Probably it wasn’t s,o much, 
but what there was I had other use for. Of course there 
wasn’t so much of me then as there is of you now, but as 
to what there was- ” 
“O, go on with the story.” 
“Well, it was the uncertainly of the situation that in- 
terested me mostly. You see, I didn’t know whether that 
bear was w'aiting to charge as soon as he located his 
enemy, whether my shot had dazed him, made him tem- 
porarily irritable, or. only a little crazy, maybe. My heart 
pounded against my ribs until ” 
“Until you heard it echo from the hills, I reckon. But 
go on.” 
“lhat heavy rifle shook in my grasp as each step took 
me down to the clump of willows that screened the gully 
where the bear was. Each step took me into a more 
difficult position from which to retreat in case I had 
wanted to get out of there rapidly.” 
“Well, why didn’t you go back before you had a fit?” 
said Enochs. 
“I did, if that’s a. matter of consequence. I’ve a notion 
to let you tell the rest of the story. You know all about 
bears, you do.”- 
“O, go on with it. When you get through I want your 
witnesses or the hide.” 
“Well, I’ll refer you to some of the people who ate some 
of that bear. There was R. M. Saeltzer, now of Redding; 
Judge Bush, Bill Hopping, Mrs. Patterson ” 
“Tell the storj'. Tell the rest of it. Don’t, don’t bring 
in any more things to talk about. Get to the bear.” 
“I’m going to. It’ll be a long time before you get to 
one. Step by step I got down into the willows until I 
could peer into the gully, a few feet below where the bear 
went down. The spring seemed to be running blood in- 
stead of water. The bottom of the gully was red with it, 
while a few feet from me lay a brown mass that I saw 
was the bear, motionless and still. 
“As I approached him I could see the blood yet spurt- 
ing from the little puncture made by the ball beneath his 
ear. It had evidently cut the jugular, while the twisted 
and upturned nose and head implied that his neck was 
oroken. I sat down upon the bank trembling and com- 
pletely unnerved. At that time I could not have raised 
a hand to save my life.” 
“Thought you’d have a fit,” said Enochs. 
“Well, you would have had a dozen. You’d have had 
some of ’em before you fired a shot — 
He jests at scars who never had a wound— 
You jest at bears you never yet have found! 
“W’ait until you bring in a bear skin. If it’s as large 
as that of a rabbit I’ll have to revise my present opinion. 
Dick, there, knows you couldn’t kill a bear with a Gat- 
ling gun.” 
“Did you eat him raw?” 
“After a few moments I realized that the bear was 
stone dead, and I got out my sheath knife with the inten- 
tion of cutting his throat so he would bleed properly. My 
knife had a thin blade— doubtless made from the same 
quality of hoop iron that many cutlers yet use in their 
wares. I got down into the gully and tried to cut the 
skin on that bear’s neck, and I might as well have tried 
to cut sole leather with a butter paddle. In desperation 
I found a stone and drove the knife point into the bullet 
hole sufficiently to let the blood out more freely. 
‘1 next examined my bear as well as I could. He was 
lying in mud and water, had shed much of his hair — 
which left him bare and shiny in places — while the hair 
that remained upon him was a rusty brown. He was not 
pretty. I tried to turn him over to get him out of the 
mud, but as he weighed about 500 pounds, and was limp 
and flabby, and as I only weighed about eighty, I had to 
abandon the enterprise after one or two efforts. 
“A man by the name of Wade, old Jim Wade, lived in 
a cabin about two miles from this spring, and I decided 
to go to him for help. Leaving my heavy gun with the 
bear I set off through the woods and was fortunate 
enough to find Jim at home. Jim Wade might have been 
as illustrious as George Washington if he had had the 
right opportunities, but in a different way. If Jim had 
cut the cherry tree, history would now glow with some 
of the most elaborate statements conceivable. He was in 
his time one of the most noted and distinguished liars in 
northern California, and heaven knows, he had plenty of 
opposition. That he had not a national or universal 
