686 
FOREST AND STREAM 
that the triers had concealed, and any lurking 
bear or lion would have had the whole outfit 
at his mercy. Ben was the first to get his head. 
Holding his cocked rifle before him, he marched 
boldly into the den and the rest followed. The 
cave was deserted, but it had been so for only 
a few hours. It was bruin’s lair, and he had 
a well-worn trail from it to the upper part of 
the canyon. His track was hardly cold, and we 
were liable to run across him at any moment. 
Thanks to Ephraim’s weight and magnitude our 
way was now comparatively clear. Slowness 
and extreme caution were necessary if we ex¬ 
pected to make the surprise party a complete 
success. Already we had passed wallows that 
he had made within a week, and everything in¬ 
dicated that the moment of engagement was at 
hand. A swallow of coffee from the canteen 
and every eye and ear were on the alert. It 
was now io o’clock. The sun was beating down 
furiously and we were suffused as to our cloth¬ 
ing with perspiration. 
Stop! Twenty yards ahead there is a crash¬ 
ing of willows and aspens and a grayish-brown 
mass, seemingly as large as a Norman horse, 
is indistinctly seen through the underbrush. Ben 
gets in the first shot and the fusilade opens- 
Bruin may be wounded, but he is not crippled. 
He wheels and charges toward his assailants. 
Four shots more and he falls, but only for a 
second. It is too warm for comfort, and we 
make a grand break for cover, trees, rocks, any¬ 
thing, at a “get-there, Eli,” pace. We scorn any 
imputation of cowardice, but circumstances alter 
cases, and none of us cared to be a shuttlecock 
for an angry grizzly’s paw. Dan made for the 
open hillside. He is almost out of the thicket 
when a hop vine trips him. Up again, but the 
bear is close by and his gun is gone, and now 
commences the dodging race for life. We are 
trembling so from exertion and excitement that 
we can hardly land a true shot, and often the 
rifle is raised and lowered for fear of hitting 
the man who is in line with the crazy brute. 
“Shoot, boys! Shoot for God’s sake! Don’t 
mind me. I can’t keep this up much longer.” 
Shot after shot rings out. Bruin falls, rises, 
struggles feebly toward the fleeing man, then 
falls to rise no more. We do not stop to ask 
who made the lucky shot, for beyond him, un¬ 
conscious on the ground, lies Dan. We fear 
that he has been struck by a misdirected bullet, 
but when we reach the spot we rejoice to find 
that he has only fallen in a dead faint, from 
which he soon recovered, full of spirits as ever, 
but weak and trembling like a leaf. 
And now we turn our attention to the con¬ 
quered. Skinning Ephraim, we find that any 
one of eight wounds would have proved fatal, 
and besides there were five or six flesh wounds- 
The hide is slung upon a pole, and Ben, Jack 
and Shoshone take turns, two and two, in bear¬ 
ing the spoils back to camp, which was reached 
about 5 o’clock. The hide was voted to Dan 
as a memento of his close call, and we reached 
him the soft, warm rug that we knew would 
lie before his fireplace in the little log cabin 
on the Sevier. 
Thursday was devoted to business by Ben and 
Jack. They started early in the day to hunt 
yellow pine timber for their mill on the creek. 
Dan was still rather shaky on his pins and re¬ 
mained in camp. Shoshone went on a tour of 
exploration about the lake. He had walked 
about a mile when his nostrils were offended 
by an odor that was never wafted from Araby 
the blest. It was a combination of slaughter¬ 
house and dirty sage brush fire. It betokened 
the presence of Indians, but before he could 
reach the encampment he heard a familiar voice 
calling his uncomplimentary Ute name—“Senab 
yodes” (devil wolf). Coal Creek John, erst¬ 
while the terror of southern Utah, was the 
speaker and Shoshone was invited to participate 
in the dance and feast that was in process of 
preparation. But, after noting the dozen deer 
skins that were stretched out to dry and getting 
some “pointers” as to the best localities for 
venison, he excused himself on the plea of a 
prior engagement. The fisher’s cabin was next 
visited and the men who make their living from 
the lake were found in a state of excitement 
and curiosity. 
A few days before a stranger from Salt Lake 
had come among them and contracted for all 
the fish that they could catch. Generally, as 
the trout will not bear the shipment in warm 
weather, the fishing season does not fairly open 
until November, but this stranger had a mysteri¬ 
ous powder, which he called “our new secret 
preparation,” that he guaranteed to preserve the 
fish fresh and sweet for weeks. The powder 
came in half-pound packages, from which he 
was careful to tear the label- It was soluble in 
water and in the solution the fish were soaked. 
Evidently it was a salycilate, probably that of 
soda- At all events it was a mascotte for the 
fishermen and they offered fabulous prices for 
the formula, or for the address of the manu¬ 
facturer- 
The professional fisherman’s life in winter is 
a hard and dreary one. At 4 o’clock in the 
morning his alarm clock calls him and he gets 
breakfast and does the cooking for the day. 
Then he gets out on the ice (temperature seldom 
above zero) and chops as many holes as he can 
before dawn. All day long he has to watch these 
holes to keep them from freezing over. Into 
each hole he drops his hook baited with wood 
grub. The line is attached to a willow. Just 
at the peep of day the fish commence to bite 
and the poles commence to bob so that a man 
has to keep on the run if he would attend to 
business. When the sun is about an hour high 
the hunger of the fish is partially appeased. The 
fisher gets a bite every five minutes, every fifteen 
minutes and in the middle of the day, only a 
bite an hour on an average. Still holes and poles 
must be watched and he has no time for rest. 
At 4 o’clock biting begins again, at dark it is fast 
and furious. Then great iron kettles, filled with 
fat pine, are brought out on the lake, and soon 
the light of forty fires illuminates the scene. 
About 7 o’clock the trout are satisfied- Then 
the men go back to their cabins and get supper, 
after which they spend three or four hours in 
cleaning and packing the day’s catch. It is 
nearly midnight before they can go to bed. On 
snowy days, when the ice has to be kept clean, 
their labor is nearly doubled. Altogether their 
lot is not an enviable one. From $80 to $120 
for the winter’s work hardly pays for the lone¬ 
liness, discomforts and exposure. 
By 6 o’clock all hands were back in camp 
and the program for the following day was 
arranged. It was to be the last in camp and 
all that we could catch or shoot was to be taken 
home for family use. Ben was to go for deer, 
Dan and Jack were to fish, and Shoshone was 
to attend to the feathered bipeds. What suc¬ 
cess attended the efforts of three of the party 
and what sport they had can be judged only by 
the results. Shoshone started out on Friday 
morning intent upon the slaughter of ducks. He 
was his own pilot and oarsman, and this may 
account for the fact that he had absolutely no 
luck, getting only one little teal, and that rather 
by chance than skill. The birds refused ob¬ 
stinately either to be driven into an inlet or to 
swim within range. Then he rowed down to the 
lower end of the lake, tied the boat to the wil¬ 
lows and went down into the meadows after 
grouse. At this time of day the birds were not 
to be found in the stubble and rowen, but rest¬ 
ing on the ground under the willows that cover 
the creek bottom. They are not easily flushed 
and their flights are short so that a mere tyro 
can secure a big bag with little or no trouble. 
One flock of eight birds was beneath a willow 
upon which sat a small hawk, about as large 
as a sparrow hawk, but, more likely, a young 
sharpshin- Every time the chickens flew the 
hawk accompanied them. He would not stir 
from the perch until they arose, and he always 
lit within 5 yards of them. He was too small 
to have been hunting prey, and his strange freak 
saved both his own life and that of the brood 
with which he had associated himself. But those 
birds were never missed. An hour’s walking gave 
Shoshone twenty-two young grouse, which was 
as much as he cared to pack, and he rowed back 
to camp, dressed his game, ate a light lunch, and 
joined Jack and Dan on the lake, a peeled wil¬ 
low taking the place of a split-bamboo. It was 
a difficult matter to cast flies with such a pole, 
and it was a more difficult matter to play the 
fish when they were hooked, but a fair degree 
of success attended his efforts. After an hour’s 
fishing we saw Ben walking back to the tent 
leading the mules that he had taken in the morn¬ 
ing. We were soon at the shore and lugging 
up 80 lbs. of fish, weighing from 1 to 3 lbs. 
each, as the result of the trio’s labor, we found 
two deer, dressed and hanging beneath our 
(Continued on page 711.) 
A Cozy Cabin. 
