FOREST AND STREAM 
553 
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AFTER “OLD TRAMP.” 
(Continued from Page 533.) 
willows. A moment later Closson joined us. 
We looked at our grizzly. Closson said, “It’s 
‘Old Tramp’. Isn’t he immense? But back up 
there quick and look out—we’ve got a wounded 
grizzly in the bushes.” 
As we ran up, I asked Closson which one and 
he said it was the second one. I asked, “Did 
the first one stay down?” and he replied “Yes.” 
Two down and another wounded. Going some? 
Up the cliff we went. Just as we put our heads 
over the top, grizzly No. 2, but a few feet away, 
let out a couple of roars like a lion and the 
bushes rattled. Closson yelled, “Jump” and 
leaped backwards. His hat stayed on the shelf. 
All was quiet for a moment. We got down, 
went around, climbed up farther out and found 
No. 2 had moved out of the willows on a small 
ridge over to one side some thirty yards. A 
shot in the back caused him to whirl around, 
rear up on his hind legs and let out another 
roar. But with the next shot, he dropped and 
rolled down over the cliff. 
Three grizzlies in less time than it takes to 
tell it was too fast and furious for any of us. 
We rolled “Old Tramp” down on a snow slide 
and worked the other two over to him, where we 
skinned them out. The two smaller bears were 
“she’s,” and doubtless constituted “Old Tramp’s” 
harem. They measured seven feet and seven 
feet six inches. The big one—‘'Old Tramp”— 
measured when put up to dry on the stretchers, 
properly shaped, nine feet three inches in length, 
about the same in width across the shoulders, 
and five. feet across the middle of the back. 
We estimated him to weigh over eight hun¬ 
dred pounds. He was very fat, the other two 
were thin. All had prime fur, all nicely colored. 
One of them was very light. She might be 
called a silver tip, but the white stripe on the 
nose was missing. 
Dr. Rainsford, writing on the subject of 
Grizzly Bears, in “Big Game of North America,” 
in relating his experiences hunting grizzlies as 
far back as 1868 to 1880, says the largest bear 
he ever killed measured nine feet three inches, 
estimated weight nine hundred pounds (he had 
killed eighteen grizzlies) and his guide admitted 
it was very unusual for a wild bear to grow over 
nine hundred pounds. 
The great strength and tenacity of life of the 
grizzly make him an opponent to be attacked 
carefully. What magnificent muscular develop¬ 
ment when stripped of the skin! He is horribly 
like man. The muscles of his arms and chest 
are simply tremendous. As we leaned over 
him I realized the utter nonsense in the use of 
a six shooter or a knife. 
There is something fascinating beyond meas¬ 
ure in hunting the grizzly—the hardest of all 
animals to approach. The extreme difficulty of 
finding him in the daylight, the lonely haunts 
he has retired to, the roughness of his rages, 
make him the most difficult to bring to bag. 
“Old Tramp’s” history is not unlike the story 
of “Old Wahb.” Born on this range, as a big 
cub, he grew to his full size, bigger than any 
other bears. He became master of all his 
range, which extended along the river for about 
twenty miles. He had never been hunted. He 
had never seen or heard man. He knew nothing 
of the man smell. He had never heard a gun 
go off. He had fought and either killed or 
chased off every other living thing that had 
come on his range. He even killed the young 
cubs, unless the mother grizzly cached them 
away. He accepted companionship of the “she 
grizzlies” alone. He was monarch of all he sur¬ 
veyed. When he came around the edge of the 
willows towards us, he only knew there was 
something alive there and as he had always 
done before, he tried to get away with it. 
I had first heard of him while sitting in a 
friend’s office in New York, four months 
previous. I next heard of him when Closson 
wrote me his first letter. Again when I reached 
Jasper. Again, when, eleven days later, we first 
saw his tracks in the gravel on the river flat, 
one mile below our camp. Four days later we 
had followed him up this range along the river 
for more than six miles. We had climbed to 
the highest part of his range. We had pitted 
our hunters’ skill against his natural instinct. 
He had accepted our challenge and come out 
into the open. Heretofore, he had always won. 
He had met us. We had fought a fair fight. 
We had won. He took his defeat as he had 
taken his victories—silently, never uttering a 
sound after he fell. As I stood there looking 
him over, it seemed incredible that victory 
should have been man’s—that prizes such as old 
experienced sportsmen would spend years trying 
to obtain had been mine in a few short days. 
Such is the fortune of the chase! 
Never before had Closson, in his twenty 
years big game hunting—many times after 
grizzlies—experienced such a close call. He 
