234 
FOREST AND STREAM 
mouth. She just wanted to let the coon and other 
folks know that she was busy—too busy to say 
anything. All of a sudden—quicker than a flash— 
she relaxed her hold and shifted for a vice grip 
on the coon’s windpipe, and in two minutes “br’er 
coon’ had breathed his last. Then we sat on a 
log and smoked our pipes while the dogs rested. 
After a while Unc Tom the Master of Cere¬ 
monies, announced that we would go over 
toward “de paster,” where he knew of another 
and much larger coon, “whut lived on de creek, 
caze he wuz er great fisherman coon, and spent 
his nights catching crawfish, and his tracks were 
as wide as Unc Tom’s hand, an’ his stride wuz 
wusser yit.” 
We had been on the creek but a short time 
when “dat li’l gyp” turned up again. 
“Dar! Ah knowed dat ole coon wuz er pokin’ 
his nose roun’ under dese banks smellin’ fer craw¬ 
fish.” He must have heard us talking, for away 
he ran south for half a mile or more into a large 
pasture, from the way the dogs were baying, the 
race was lively, and we hurried on. Unc Tom 
was optimistic when the hant delusion was not on 
his mind, and he remarked, “Dat ole coon is des 
as fat as er hawg in de pen, and he gwine tree 
right soon, caze he nuvver could keep erheid dem 
dawgs gwine long down dat creek.” When we 
reached the pasture fence the old man shouted, 
“Ah tole you so! Dey done treed him right over 
dar in de chincapin holler, and Ah bet yer he’s 
up er saplin’.” When we reached the spot of the 
second treeing, there sat br’er coon in plain view 
about fifteen feet from the ground, and the dogs 
were wild with excitement. The young ones 
were bounding into the air trying to get at br'er 
coon, who was indeed another one of Unc Tom’s 
prize varmints—in size. 
To joke with the old man, I asked, “Where are 
the hants to-night, Unc Tom?” 
“Oh! you des wait now, boss, caze dis ain’t no 
hant night. Hit’s er coon night Hants don’t 
proge aroun’ much when coons is walkin.’ Dej 
only comes erbout when de coons is off in de 
older part ob de woods.” 
As the climb was easy, I suggested that I would 
go up and cut the small limb off and gently let 
br’er coon down. The other boys got to work 
and built a ring of bonfires around a well-lighted 
avenue for the fight. Mary took up her position 
in the middle, and, sitting on her haunches, she 
sent up frequent challenges to the coon to come 
down for a fair fight. But he had his eye on the 
ditch not far off. 
When I got up to the limb that supported his 
coonship, I pulled out a small hatchet from my 
belt and cut away his support with about a half- 
dozen blows. He sat there until the limb almost 
reached the ground, for the bright light seemed 
to daze him. He had to move lively when Mary 
pounced in upon him, and with a snail he spit at 
her, side-stepped and tried to run. But the run¬ 
ning was not good because of three dogs, and 
the blinding blaze all around. So, like Macbeth, 
when the indomitable Macduff followed close on 
his heels, br’er coon simply had to fight. And if 
you don’t believe that it was a terrific fight, to the 
finish, why, just ask Unc Tom. The old man 
was jumping up and down in wild excitement, 
shouting, “Mine you hold dar, li’l gyp! Dont’t you 
let dat varmint git yo’ guzzle! Git into him now—- 
he cain’t stop you, dawg!” But he was a fighter, 
for when he found that he could not reach the 
ditch, he made up his mind to fight and die like 
a man. The young dogs yelped frequently, and 
ran out, first one and then the other, only to turn 
around and go in for more. Their ears were 
bleeding and their faces were scratched, but the 
“li’l gyp” stayed right with him, and her only 
wish was that the youngsters would not get in 
her way. 
Every little while 'bre’er coon made an effort 
to pull loose from the bull terrier grip, and 
dragged her several feet; then he would turn on 
his back and, with paws in the air, make hair fly 
from any dog within reach of his claws. Finally, 
while Mary was doing her best for a windpipe 
hold, young ‘“Sandy,” a red dog, ran into a flank 
grip, and as br’er coon doubled to shake him free, 
Mary seemed to see a possible opening, for she 
loosened her hold. Fortunately Sandy held on 
until she could get her new grip, and she evident¬ 
ly trusted him to hold fast, for she swung clear 
around and sprang in from the opposite side. 
Br’er coon ducked. She caught him by the throat, 
going at him like a diver jumping head first, and 
br’er coon made some valiant efforts to get her 
off with his paws. But, as Unc Tom said, “She 
wouldn’t let go ef you’d knock her in de haid wid 
er sledge hammer.” 
Young Sandy stood valiantly to his gun until 
after a while br’er coon gave a lurch and laid 
still. I for one, felt “chicken hearted” to see such 
a good fighter beaten. But as he could not run, 
there seemed no other way out of it. 
After another rest of an hour, our friend from 
the city began to yawn out loud, and we decided 
to go across the pasture, where the walking was 
much easier, and Unc Tom said that he knew 
where we could find a possum, “caze the carcass 
ob one ob ole Marster’s mules is up dar by de 
sawmill hill, and ah know we all kin fine one ob 
dem pesky ole varmints up dar. Dey sho is mighty 
good doe, ef you cook em right wid tatoes. Ah’d 
des like to hab one right ’bout now.” 
When we got up into the dead mule neighbor¬ 
hood, we did not need a lantern to tell us that 
something was at least “decaying in the State of 
Denmark,” for the wind was from the south and 
we were on the north side of the carcass. But 
notwithstanding the bouquet de dead mule, Mary 
ran off toward a thicket nearby and barked sev¬ 
eral times, and then treed something. As usual, 
Unc Tom “knowed he wuz dar.” We ran down 
to where the dog was, and up about twenty-five 
feet from the ground on the trunk of a bent sap¬ 
ling sat Mr. Possum. Douglas, the climber, 
walked to the root of the tree and caught hold of 
a grape-vine which seemed to go up near where 
the possum sat, and gave it a hard pull. Down 
came the possum. The boy was so intently watch¬ 
ing him that he did not move an inch, and the 
possum fell square across his face. The darkie 
yelled and ran, declaring that-the varmint had 
broken his nose. 
Well, as possums do not fight much, nor die 
very game, we soon had him on the dead list, and 
while he did not smell like a rosebud, Unc Tom 
declared that he was worth a whole “passel ob 
coons.” When we examined Douglas’ face, we 
found an ugly cut across his Grecian nose which 
was marked with the only wound given by br’er 
possum. 
Thence we wandered over toward the negro 
burying ground, determined to keep in the neigh¬ 
borhood of the dead, as we were doing much kill¬ 
ing by “de dark ob de moon,” but glad to get out 
of range of that mule. But as ill luck, or fate, 
or some other dark influence would have it, we 
walked right into the hant neighborhood. Mary 
went all to pieces and ran first one way and then 
another. She treed an old rail fence, and when 
we got there she quietly walked away, as much 
as to say, “What’s the use?” Next we heard her 
racing around the “cullud cemetery,” baying at 
every jump. I asked Unc Tom in solemn tones 
if he had the hind leg of a grave yard rabbit, 
killed at the dark of the moon, in his left-hand 
pants-pocket. Otherwise I though that our hunt 
was done for that night. His only answer was, 
“Ah she is got er good mine ter take er fence 
rail and knock dat triflin’ dawg in de head. Dat’s 
des de way she ack one night when ah wuz huntin’ 
ober ter de Lacen place. She stop huntin’ and 
went ter runnin’ roun’ Miss Bob Lacen’s grabe. 
Ah sho believes dat somebody done put er spell 
on dat dawg. Huccum she des do dat way when 
us come to de buryin’ groun’?” 
I suggested that it might have been the mule 
smell that put her out of trim. “Oh, no, boss!” 
replied Unc Tom, “dat ain’t hit. She’d go right 
over dar now and pitch in and eat dat ole mule 
ef she wuzzen’ fraid ah’d kotch her and beat 
her.” 
We went up into the cemetery hill, found Mary 
treeing a gray house-cat, and as ’twas not far 
from the time when the gray lines fretting the 
skies would mark the coming of dawn, we called 
it the finest coon hunt of the season, if it did end 
with a hant chase, and Unc Tom was happy. 
ELK EAST OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 
Editor of Forest and Stream : The inquiry on 
page 177 of this volume of Forest and Stream as 
to when the last elk was killed east of the Miss¬ 
issippi, brings up a subject that has often been 
written of. For Pennsylvanians the traditional 
date is 1867, and there seems to be good evidence 
that this was the year of the killing of the last 
elk. Some people say 1869. 
If Old Reader wants to look up the evidence 
so far as Pennsylvania is concerned, let him get 
a copy of Rhoad’s “Mammals of Pennsylvania 
and New Jersey,” Philadelphia, 1903, and read 
the article on elk beginning on page 29. 
I have been told there were elk killed in Mich¬ 
igan in 1871, and I fancy there is evidence of one 
having been killed in 1883-85. 
I used to have this information more or less 
at my finger tips, but have forgotten it. 
ANOTHER OLD READER. 
GRIZZLY BEARS: SKULLS WANTED. 
Half a century ago a considerable number of 
wholly distinct species of grizzly bears inhabited 
the western part of North America. They ranged 
from the eastern edge of the Great Plains in 
Manitoba and the Dakotas westerly to the Paci¬ 
fic Coast in British Columbia and California, and 
from the shores of the Arctic Ocean south into 
Mexico. The species inhabiting Alaska and the 
western provinces of Canada, though reduced in 
numbers, may still be counted among the living, 
but those of the western United States are with 
few exceptions extinct; and what is still worse, 
in most cases only a few skulls remain to afford 
future students a fragmentary and imperfect pic¬ 
ture of the great carnivores which not long ago 
were dominant figures in our wild life. 
For 23 years I have been engaged in a study 
of the bears, and have been favored with speci¬ 
mens (mainly skulls) from nearly all the muse¬ 
ums and private collections of the United States 
and Canada. Still, owing to wide gaps in this 
material, many questions have arisen which can¬ 
not be answered. Not only is it impossible to 
map the ranges of the different species with any¬ 
thing like precision, but in some cases, owing to 
the absence of skulls of adult males, the charac¬ 
ters which serve to distinguish one species from 
another can be determined only in part. 
Therefore, in the hope of obtaining more light 
on some of these questions before going to press, 
I wish to make a final appeal to all who have 
skulls of grizzlies in their possession. I am 
anxious to see as many skulls as possible of both 
sexes from all parts of the western United States, 
British Columbia, Alberta, Manitoba, Yukon Ter¬ 
ritory and Alaska, and would like to purchase or 
borrow all that I have not already seen. Owners 
of skulls will confer a favor by addressing 
C. HART MERRIAM, 
National Museum, Washington, D. C. 
