50 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July io, 1909. 
an immense silver tip grizzly, which I supposed 
had become frightened for some reason and 
was in the act of crossing the river ahead of 
us. But this was the impression of but a 
moment, for another glance showed that the 
bear was headed directly toward the stranded 
canoe and, with head well up, was approaching 
with all the speed that such an animal is cap¬ 
able of. 
My immediate feeling was not that of per¬ 
sonal fear, but rather that I was about to wit¬ 
ness some tragic act in which someone other 
than myself was to be the victim, and for a 
second I gazed at the approaching animal with¬ 
out feeling any desire to defend myself, though 
I stood first in the line of attack. 
For his first dash of thirty yards I sat motion¬ 
less and, so far as I remember, silent. Although 
afterward in recounting the matter, Ferrel, who 
sat with his back toward me and directly be¬ 
hind, said that he heard a sudden exclamation, 
“Look what’s coming at us!” And Ferrell re¬ 
marked, “You bet I looked over my shoulder 
at such an invitation.” 
Then I remembered that lying between my 
feet was a small canvas bag containing the .32 
caliber revolver earlier mentioned. Seizing it 
and aiming toward the bear, now about thirty 
yards away, I purposely fired four or five feet 
over his head, for I had the feeling that the 
trifling wound such a weapon could inflict was 
more likely to enrage than to frighten him. On 
the bear came, with head still high, and then I 
fired again. This time at the base of his throat 
in the hope that the tiny bullet might penetrate 
his jugular and weaken him in a hand-to-hand 
conflict a moment later. But this ball must have 
gone astray and the little white puff and whip¬ 
like crack of the smokeless powder made no 
impression on him. The death of one or all 
now seemed certain. At twenty feet he turned 
slightly, bringing his body more in line with 
the center of the boat, and I aimed the third 
shot just back of the shoulder, trusting that it 
would go in between the heavy ribs, piercing 
the edge of his heart, or at least penetrating 
the lungs. On several occasions I have heard 
a rifle bullet strike the side of a large animal 
when it was distant a hundred yards or more, 
but up to that time I had never seen a bullet 
actually strike. Now, well back of the shoul¬ 
der, and just in front of the flank, I saw a tuft 
of grizzly hair give a whirl, as though one at 
close range had blown into it with his mouth. 
The bear suddenly halted and slowly swung 
his big head once or twice to the right and left, 
and then for the first time I was made to realize 
that there were others in the boat besides my¬ 
self, for Ferrell gave one of those long and 
piercing yells for which many a frontiersman is 
noted, and began waving an oar in a threaten¬ 
ing way, while Hammer, in the rear seat, with 
his paddle, followed suit, I meanwhile keeping 
the bear covered with the revolver, although it 
was my intention to save the three remaining 
shots until he came on board. 
In less time than it takes to describe this 
combined demonstration, the bear suddenly turn¬ 
ed and, instead of taking his backtrack up the 
beach, rushed in a great gallop for the bank, 
only thirty feet away, and in a moment scram¬ 
bled up the muddy sides and plunged into the 
thick bushes, which we could hear cracking and 
see swaying for twenty yards of his retreat. 
Then for the first time I turned and faced 
my companions, and a demoralized looking set 
we were. Quickly and without discussion we 
began to try to shove the canoe out into deeper 
water, where we were then caught by the swift 
current and began drifting backward. This led 
Ferrel to ask whether it was not better to re¬ 
verse our positions and paddle down stream as 
the quickest means of escape. By this time my 
hunter’s instinct, if not any deliberate process 
of reasoning, had told me that the bear had 
gone never to return, and that he was just as 
badly demoralized as we were. Therefore, I 
gave the order to paddle up the stream, and this 
we did in a way that threatened to break our 
frail means of propulsion. 
At the bend above we landed on the opposite 
side and tied up for a moment, for up to that 
time there had been nothing on board available 
for defense except the small revolver. Beneath 
the tents and other camp stuff were two large 
and well-sharpened axes laid athwart the canoe 
to brace the bottom. These were removed, and 
Ferrell cut a heavy eight-foot club, a blow from 
which delivered on the end of the nose when 
the bear rose on its hind legs to grapple would 
demoralize it far more quickly than almost any 
wound that might be inflicted. 
Alleged Belligerency of Wild Animals. 
By this time I was beginning to experience 
a strange and rather humiliating sensation, for 
only one month before in an article in which I 
had incidentally taken a fall out of the nature 
fakers and a certain class of tenderfoot sports¬ 
men, I had written in substance as follows: 
The almost daily reiterated reports of the “man chas¬ 
ing and devouring” wolf, the “fierce” lynx, the “savage” 
bear, the “terrible” cougar, the “revengeful” bull moose 
excite wonderment; for in my humble judgment all such 
blood-curdling attributes are unfounded and mendacious 
in nearly every particular. However great the perils of 
the African jungle, the situation in this country is en¬ 
tirely different. After a personal experience of more than 
thirty-five years in the American wilderness, from the 
Gulf of Mexico to the Hudson Bay waters, and especially 
throughout the range of these particular animals, and 
after an almost continuous investigation from hundreds 
of experienced sources, I think it would be safe to say 
that there are more persons injured or killed through 
the attacks of domestic animals or wild animals in con¬ 
finement, or partial confinement, in a single season than 
by all the wild animals of the forest in the past fifty 
years. 
Tales of savage beasts emanate chiefly from two 
classes, the commercial nature faker and the novice, in 
which latter class may frequently be included fishermen, 
land-lookers, surveyors, miners, the lumber-jack, and the 
temporary homesteader, since many of these are wholly 
unacquainted with wild animal life and very often 
possess a vivid imagination, built up partly upon fear 
and partly upon a desire to report startling tales equal 
to the best that appear in the local press. True it is 
that the grizzly bear, badly wounded or defending its 
young, may occasionally show fight, but the old day, 
when this powerful animal voluntarily stood its ground, 
is gone forever—at least in every district where the re¬ 
peating rifle has taught the lesson of man’s overpowering 
mastery—and to-day not a single experienced sports¬ 
man, naturalist, guide, or any reliable trapper will re¬ 
late or underwrite any of these tales of perilous ad¬ 
ventures with the wild and harassed animals of the 
American forest. The more dangerous the supposed traits of 
any particular animal, the more the certainty of its being 
the one now most fearful of man’s presence, whatever 
may be its attitude toward the other animals of the 
forest. To this fact alone does the predaceous quadru¬ 
ped now owe its existence, for were it to meet instead 
of retreat from the man with the gun the end would 
long ago have been reached. 
Here, however, was an instance in which the 
only animal that 1 considered possibly danger-! 
ous in the American wilderness had gone counter i 
to what I had said of him; at least, until he 
got within twenty feet, when my general state¬ 
ment seemed to hold good. So soon as Ferrell 
came on board with his “shampooing stick,” as 
he called it, I began to express the view that this 
particular bear had not meant any harm after 
all; that it was only a case of mistaken identity. 
With his club in his hand and a wild look in 
his eye, Ferrell shouted: “Oh, darn these 
theories. I tell you that bear is crazy. I have 
seen and shot plenty of bear, but none that ever 
acted like that before. If we don’t get out of 
here in about two minutes there is going to be 
a mix-up.” Thereupon I subsided, and we start¬ 
ed on another lively spurt up the river, although j 
our arms went a good deal faster than the boat. 
After a little thought I renewed my sugges- 1 
tion that the bear was not a bad old chap after j 
all, for I had worked out the solution on this j 
basis: The place where we had stranded was | 
admittedly a great crossing place for elk on 1 
their way to a soda lick some three hundred j 
yards east of the sandbar, and the bear was only j 
after elk meat. It happened that I had on a 
gray shirt, well covered with a reddish-brown 
leather vest, the exact color of the neck and 
shoulders of an elk at that season of the year. 
The conclusion was warranted, it seemed to me, 
that this old silver-tip for some time, and per¬ 
haps during all the summer, had been in the 
habit of lying in wait behind the bushes at the 
head of the sandbar, where, after the elk had 
come down the steep bank on the opposite side 
and had struggled across the swift and deep 
current, he had been able, by a sudden rush upon 
a band of the animals, to overtake the last ones 
in the water before they could climb up the nar¬ 
row runway on the opposite side; and that , 
doubtless every day or two, especially early in 
the season, he was able to capture an elk calf 
or perhaps an older animal. 
Those who have hunted bear know that in 
districts where they are much pursued these 1 
animals are largely nocturnal and depend almost 
wholly upon the senses of hearing and of scent ■ 
to detect danger, since their eyesight is little 1 
better than that of a swill-fed hog. When, 1 
therefore, the bear looking down the stream . 
saw a commotion at the water’s edge and saw, 1 
apparently, the head and shoulders of a swim- ; 
ming elk, he started at once in quest of a noon- ! { 
day lunch, believing that his surest means of ac¬ 
complishing this was by a burst of speed. The 
preliminary cracks of the little revolver did not 
disclose the nature of his quarry until he was ■ 
just abreast of us, when the prick of the bullet, 
the loud yells and waving oars of the guides 
gave him a shock as sudden as it was surpris- ! 
ing. And the way he went ashore, on sizing up 
a combination probably never before seen on 
the banks of the Upper Yellowstone, seemed 1 
almost conclusive evidence that the suggested 5 
solution of this bear’s attack is the true one. [ 
Ten days later, when I reached the Hofer camp, j 
there was endless amusement as they listened ; 
to the tale, but let it be said to all doubting ones 
that Billy Hofer agreed with me, and what he 
does not know about bears, wild or tame, can > 
be written on a postage stamp. 
[to be concluded.] 
