930 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 30, 1911. 
We found the fellow to be familiar with the 
surrounding country and the probable feeding 
places of animals which would supply a meat 
ration for us. He told us of the picturesque bad 
lands that we wou'd skirt a few miles further 
down stream between the Seven Blackfeet and 
Hell creeks, wherein he assured us were moun¬ 
tain sheep. 
No doubt our minds were distorted by the 
tales of Lewis and Clark and many other more 
recent writers of the hordes of game seen by 
them along the Upper Missouri, and as a conse¬ 
quence we had been greatly disappointed by hav¬ 
ing seen so little—almost none—and being em¬ 
bittered by our experience, we were incredulous 
of the story we now heard about, probably the 
most wary and scarce of America’s wild animals 
being within our reach; therefore, we offered in¬ 
ducements to the narrator to meet us at the 
designated place within a couple of days and 
make good his assertion. To his credit I must 
say that he proved reliable in every respect; 
namely, by keeping his appointment and finding 
the sheep of which we each obtained a ram bear¬ 
ing horns of three or four years’ growth. 
Our experience while hunting them made it 
very plain to our minds as to why a remnant of 
these animals survived a pursuit of their kind 
extending through a long series of years. We 
found that hunting midst these bad lands was 
accompanied by many hardships and some dan¬ 
gers, just as sheep hunting usually is. From the 
high grassy lands many ridges projected out into 
the valley, like fingers from the palm of one’s 
hand, and these ridges were eroded into innu¬ 
merable pinnacles, sharp edges and deep arroyos, 
the latter sometimes wooded. We would select 
a ridge made promising by fresh signs and en¬ 
deavor to traverse its length by stamping foot¬ 
holds in the crushed surface layer of the soil 
as we advanced with- the assured result of a 
rapid descent of the sheer sides into the pit be¬ 
low in the event of a treacherous hand or foot¬ 
hold. In this manner we could hunt on one side 
of the selected ridge and the near side of the 
adjacent para’leling one simultaneously, but pro- 
W INTER had set in early in the Sierras. 
The last snowstorm had effectually 
closed all roads, and for the ensuing 
seven months we should not be able to move 
far without our winter footgear, the long, nar¬ 
row, springy spruce skis. Already the men were 
cumbering the cooking stove with their tar pots 
and evil-smelling compounds for making the 
skis “good and slick.” 
We had just managed to get the horses and 
cattle out in time, and had driven them fifty 
miles to their winter quarters in the foothills. 
The few steers still in-the corral were marked 
for slaughter, and destined to become salt beef 
for winter use. It was the latter circumstance 
that induced bruin to pay us a visit. The day 
after the butchering had taken place we were 
rather surprised to see a big track leading to 
gress was so laborious and slow that very little 
ground could be covered in a day because a re¬ 
turn must be made to the grass land in order to 
start out on another ridge. 
My use of the word “day” recalls to mind the 
wonderful beginnings and endings thereof—the 
mornings and evenings—in this desert-like coun¬ 
try. The whole atmosphere far and near would 
seem aglow with soft rich colors as though 
volcanic dust were present to abnormally hold 
the rays of the sun. The effect was very beauti¬ 
ful and impressive. 
The entire absence of drinking water in the 
hills was a source of punishment which we still 
distinctly remember. With parched throats, our 
tongues glued to the roof of our mouths and 
feet seemingly on fire, we looked down upon the 
winding Missouri with all the sensations of a 
Tantalus. 
The sheep, owing to their natural coloring and 
to the earth stains upon their pelts, were com¬ 
pletely absorbed by their environment excepting 
when moving, and so taken all in all this isolated 
habitat of these animals afforded them ample 
protection, even though so near the outposts of 
civilization. 
We were subsequently informed that the diffi¬ 
culties attending the pursuit of them when in 
the hills deterred the surrounding ranchmen 
from frequent attempts, but that in the winter, 
when heavy snows drove them down to lower 
levels, they were easily slain. 
When in this neighborhood we did not know 
of the fossil bed which Dr. Hornaday had 
opened a few years previous, or more than likely 
we would have meddled with some of the 
Tyrranosaunts rex or T riceratops brevicomis, 
or other things with other awful names that may 
still be buried there. As it was we found on 
the surface a number of fossilized forms of small 
creatures unknown to us, and with this excep¬ 
tion our connection with the interesting past was 
limited to the deeply worn trails and wallows 
of bison and an occasional bleaching skull with 
horns still intact protruding from the sand or 
the river bed. 
the corral. A very cursory examination showed 
that it belonged to a grizzly. He had climbed 
over the fence, had a most royal feast, and on 
his exit preferred to go through instead of over 
the stout palings which formed the inclosure. 
Of a provident turn, he had carried a great 
paunch some distance up the hill, but evidently 
found the load annoying in the soft snow, so 
had left it in his tracks. 
There is no doubt that W. was the keenest 
hunter in camp. I had not finished breakfast 
before he was up at the cabin fully accoutred 
with rubber boots, skis and his .30-30 rifle. 
“Will you go with me after the bear?” 
It looked good. A few hours previous bruin 
was certainly here and had left a track that one 
could follow in the dark. It would seem, to the 
uninitiated, that to follow him up and kill him 
would be a perfectly simple matter. But I had 
misgivings. I had been on these tracking ex¬ 
peditions with W. before. I had followed tracks 
for miles, eventually losing them on some sunny 
slope where the snow “petered” and the brush 
was tall and thick. I had toiled over rocky sum¬ 
mits and through dismal canons, only at last to 
reach some point where the hunter could no 
longer follow the quarry. On one occasion I 
had even followed a bear for thirty-six hours, 
“like the hunter that has seen a stag upon a 
mountain, so that the night may fall, and the 
fire be kindled, and the lights shine in his home; 
but desire of that stag is single in his bosom.” 
This latter expedition had dashed my hunting 
spirit somewhat, as when the chase terminated, 
the bear was, apparently, still going strong. We 
were a long way from home and tobacco, as 
an article of diet, leaves much to be desired. 
However, I yielded as usual to W.’s persuasive 
tongue, and soon, with moccasins and skis, we 
were steadily climbing the mountainside, keep¬ 
ing in close touch with the track. Unless you 
have been, figuratively speaking, born on skis, 
a gun is an awful nuisance to you when travel¬ 
ing on them; it may be a source of danger also. 
I have a lively recollection of rolling fifty feet 
down a steep bank and hearing a shot in the 
snow uncomfortably near my feet. Luckily the 
only damage was to the gun, but which required 
a couple of inches sawing off the barrels after 
the incident. 
Far ahead up the mountain, where the snow 
was illuminated by the morning sun, was a large 
patch of young timber into which the tracks 
led us. So far the going had been fairly good, 
but now our troubles commenced. So thick was 
the growth that in places it was difficult to creep 
through, and even bruin had left a little hair 
here and there on the lower dead branches of 
the young firs. Soon we came to one of his 
beds, but it was vacant, and judging from his 
subsequent wanderings in this sapling grove, he 
must have been walking in his sleep; or possibly 
he understood the telltale track he was leaving 
and wanted to confuse his enemies. Those who 
have hunted much cannot fail to have noticed 
the apparently aimless way in which a bear or 
deer will travel around. 
To get a pair of ten-foot six-inch skis, a pole 
and a rifle through this tangled mess was, to 
put it mildly, trying; and as every little sapling 
was loaded with snow and needed but a touch 
to deposit its quota on our backs, I found my 
mountain vocabulary painfully wanting. After 
an hour and a half of this work we emerged 
from the grove, still following bruin’s footprints. 
The bear had evidently decided to go south. 
From our new vantage point we could see the 
track for a mile, and taking the moccasins off 
our skis, we glided along parallel to it with 
scarcely an effort; so easy a grade had he 
chosen. Far below us was Rattlesnake Creek. 
The mountain side we were on was cut and 
scored by many ravines and small canons. From 
each ridge we expected to catch sight of our 
game, but he had evidently had a good start 
and was probably making better time than we 
were thus far. A large fir bore recent impres¬ 
sions of his claws. The bark was scarred eight 
feet from the ground. 
\\ hen we found that the bear was heading 
for the high cliffs around Devil’s Gate, the most 
difficult part of an extremely rugged cation, we 
A Bear Hunt on Skis 
By JAMES STAFFORD FREEBOROUGH 
