Dec. 13, 1913 - 
FOREST AND STREAM 
753 
with their slender legs. Quickly recovering, they 
were up and out of sight before I even so much 
as thought of shooting again. I had heard of the 
manner in which the mountain sheep used his 
horns as a protection in landing from a lofty 
jump, but had never before been a witness to the 
act. But amazed as I was at the wonderful sight, 
I could not help laughing aloud at their foolish 
terror. Plainly they didn’t know who was shoot¬ 
ing at them. 
“In my preoccupation in watching the sheep 
I had allowed one of my snowshoes to settle into 
a little pool of slush, where a trickle of water 
had begun to run from a crevice in the canon 
wall. My moccasin and socks had soaked through 
before I knew it, and I started at feeling the 
cold chill on my foot. Stepping aside, I slipped 
off the snowshoe from the dripping member, sat 
down upon it and proceeded to pull off and wring- 
out my dripping moccasin and socks. As I 
squeezed out the last drops and hung them care¬ 
fully on some sprigs of ‘squaw brush’ to dry, the 
sun peeped over the snow caps above my head 
and set the whole canon ablaze with sparkling 
splendor. Something in the grateful warmth 
carried me back to a summer I once spent in 
sunny Italy, and I was just about to treat myself 
to a retrospect of golden oranges gleaming se¬ 
ductively through dark green foliage, when some¬ 
thing caused me to look up, and there, just over 
the summit of the slide, sunning himself and re¬ 
garding me with a look of contemplative amuse¬ 
ment, was Gardner’s bear. I knew it was Gard¬ 
ner’s by the white face and the great size. Gard¬ 
ner’s description was very conservative—too con¬ 
servative—1 thought. 
“I picked up my rifle and cautiously opened 
the magazine. It was empty. I felt in my pocket 
and found but one cartridge. I slipped it into 
the magazine and quietly pumped it to place. 
Then I looked at the bear again. There he was, 
standing just as before, still with that same ex¬ 
pression of amused disdain. I felt sure he was 
chuckling inwardly over -that last shot of mine at 
the sheep. I was fully alive to my deficiency as 
a marksman and realized the folly of ‘gunning’ 
for a grizzly with no reserve amunition; but 
that superior look decided me. He seemed to 
consider me so harmless that I waxed indignant 
in spite of myself. Resting my gun on my knee, 
I picked out a likely looking spot on the broad, 
hairy breast and fired. 
“I had heard of how even elephants stag¬ 
gered before the impact of a modern high-power 
rifle bullet, and while I was prepared for a little 
floundering in the death throes, I at least ex¬ 
pected the brute to crumple up into a heap as a 
preliminary. But nothing of the kind happened. 
The bullet seemed to shatter nothing but his 
equanimity. I remember distinctly the thrill of 
elation which swept over me as I marked the 
passing of his look of high-bred amusement, and 
then sensations began coming -too quickly to re¬ 
cord. With a couple of bounds the bear was 
down the slide and into the soft snow of the river 
bottom. On he came, growling and bristling with 
rage, his clumsy, shambling gait rendered more 
awkward by his constantly breaking through the 
crust and having to struggle for a foothold. Now 
down on his knees with his great jaws gnashing 
in the snow, now with his hind quarters nearly 
out of sight and his fore paws clawing desperate¬ 
ly to draw himself on, he advanced with a series 
of leaps and plunges -that carried him all too 
quickly over the intervening space. 
“I sprang to my feet as I realized that I 
had missed or, at best, only slightly wounded the 
beast, pitching my useless rifle into the snow. 
My snowshoe ‘tie’ of cariboo hide thongs, pass¬ 
ing across the toe and instep and back around 
the heel, was so arranged as to allow the foot 
to be quickly slipped in and twisted to place. 
The ‘tie’ of my shoe was, of course, fitted to the 
moccasin, worn over several thicknesses of heavy 
woolen socks, and it was with a feeling of hope¬ 
lessness that I slipped my bare foot into it and 
sprang away across the bottom, not noticing in 
my confusion until too late that I was plowing 
along over the swirling river, which, -swollen by 
the water from -the melting snow, was raging 
right beneath my feet, and with only a few inches 
of trembling crust between. I felt, as by in¬ 
stinct, that I was above the water, but I gave it 
no second thought, for my foot was slipping from 
the loose thongs of its snowshoe, and the world 
held nothing else for me at that moment than a 
big, open red mouth above a pair of cruel spiked 
paws. Every instant I expected to feel them on 
my back. Another stride, and my bare foot had 
slipped from the loose-hanging ‘tie’ and, as I 
brought it forward, the shoe was left behind. 
For the fraction of an instant I balanced on the 
remaining shoe, but my impetus overthrew me, 
and as my foot struck it punched through the 
crust, a mass of snow caved in, the heavy ‘chunk¬ 
ing’ of the rolled boulders thundered in my ears, 
and I saw the leaping waters, beaten into a foam 
as white as the snow itself, boiling at my side. 
“The remaining shoe sank deep into the 
yielding snow, and on both sides and behind the 
thin crust began -to settle into the river. I flung 
myself toward the slide, dug in with both hands 
and rolled and struggled away from the broaden¬ 
ing hole. But ere I could reach a solid foothold 
there was a rush and a roar from behind, a 
bedlam of savage snarls, and, crunching and 
splashing, the snow broke in all the way to the 
bank. For a moment the mass blocked the rush 
of the water and it was thrown back in a huge 
curling wave, while the hole filled with a mass 
of wildly pitching ice cakes, slush and foam; 
then the irresistible impulse of the torrent cleared 
the way, and with a loud, smacking sound, like 
the last throes of an expiring geyser, it was all 
drawn under the great slide. 
“Twice the snow in which I struggled caved, 
and twice I plunged ahead and drew myself up, 
even as I felt the drag of the current on my feet; 
and at last my efforts carried me to -the firmer 
surface of the slide. As I pulled myself up and 
turned in a dazed way to look around, I was 
just in time to see my late pursuer whirl rapidly 
around the foam-white pool, clawing and snap¬ 
ping at everything within reach, and then, strug¬ 
gling to the last, disappear almost under my feet. 
“It had all happened in less than a minute, 
but as I laid there on my back, regaining my 
breath and composure, it seemed hours, almost 
days, since I had been sitting quietly in the sun 
drying my socks and thinking of orange groves 
and Italy. My one shoe had stayed with me 
through it all; the other had gone down with 
the cave-in. From the marks it appeared that 
the thin stratum of honey-combed snow and ice 
had succumbed to the great weight of the bear 
as soon as he was well clear of the bank, pre¬ 
cipitating him into the water some feet behind 
the point at which I had lost my shoe and 
punched through myself. 
“I hobbled along the crest of the slide and 
reached, without much trouble, the spot where 
I had abandoned my footgear. After thoroughly 
chafing my heel and toes to warm them, I drew 
on the still wet socks and, picking up my gun, 
which I found sticking muzzle down in the snow, 
set out for camp. 
“As I anticipated, my progress was slow, for 
the sun, now circling well above the mountain 
tops, was rapidly softening the crust, and the 
foot without its snowshoe punched through deep¬ 
ly at every step. But by carefully picking my 
way, keeping to the more solid drifts and throw¬ 
ing the greater part of my weight on the remain¬ 
ing ‘web,’ I managed to cover the two miles in 
as many hours. Completely exhausted though I 
was, dry clothes and a couple of cups of hot 
coffee quickly put me to rights, and while the 
odor of ptarmigan stew filled the tent I told my 
story to a wondering and somewhat incredulous- 
audience. 
“As I was speaking I saw Chamberlain ex¬ 
amining my gun and smiling knowingly to him¬ 
self. As I finished he handed it to me, laid his- 
finger on the rear sight, and, still smiling, raised 
the tent flap and walked out. The sight was- 
raised to four hundred yards, where I had used 
it when shooting at the sheep. I had fired upon- 
the bear at something under fifteen yards. 
“A week of warm spring rain and the heat, 
of the steadily lengthening days soon caused the 
snow on the river to disappear, and later, when 
the water began to recede, we found a big brown 
carcass, bruised and battered, washed high and' 
dry against a clump of young spruces down where 
the torrent had reached high-water mark in the 
lower valley. Near the tip of one ear was a 
clean, round hole which Chamberlain, who dis¬ 
covered it, pointed out with gravity as a birth¬ 
mark.” 
Our pipes were long out, the fire was down, 
and Ford had the story off his mind. There was- 
nothing for it but bunks and blankets. 
Salmon and Field Mouse 
New York, Nov. 22 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream : I was salmon fishing last season on the 
north shore of the St. Lawrence River, and had 
an experience that 1 have never known any other 
salmon fisherman to have. I killed a 16-pound 
salmon, and when my canoe-man took it by the 
tail to give it the “coup de grace,” out of its 
mouth popped a field mouse partly digested. I 
thought perhaps some of your readers would be 
interested in knowing that salmon sometimes 
take bait in fresh water. 
Wm. Carpender. 
