FOREST AND STREAM LETTERS 
A SCRIMMAGE WITH A 
MOUNTAIN LION 
Dear Forest and Stream: 
Nov. 21st we were running cattle 
on the Uncompahgre National 
Forest and having most of the cattle 
gathered in we decided to make our 
final P’all ride to gather up the rem¬ 
nants of our herd which were hanging 
up on the high points the rims of the 
Unaweep Canyon in Lake Country, 
which is about 50 miles southwest of 
Grand Junction in southwestern Colo¬ 
rado. 
Jerome Craig and myself gathered 
our pack outfit and guns and started 
out. There had been a fresh fall of 
snow about six inches deep so that 
tracking was good. We ran up 
through a very heavy timbers nine 
mesa which was literally trailed and 
tracked up by deer, i took one side 
and Jerome the other. W? had not 
been separated long when I discovered 
the tracks of a huge mountain lion 
trailing some deer down across the 
point. As I was sizing up the tracks, 
a little undecided whether or not to fol¬ 
low them, I suddenly heard a shot, fol¬ 
lowed in close succession by two more. 
Knowing my partner had started 
something, I ran in the direction from 
which I thought the shots came, but 
had some little trouble in finding him. 
My horse started up with a jerk and 
began to prick up his ears. I looked up 
and saw Jerome coming towards me 
on the trail so I stopped and waited 
for him to come up. 
He first discovered the lion crouching 
over the freshly killed carcass of a 
big six-point buck, probably some six 
hundred yards distant, down the hill 
across the canyon. Sizing up the sit¬ 
uation and carefully estimating - the 
distance he took a shot with his ,250- 
300 Savage rifle but this missed its 
mark. The lion crouched low, refusing 
to desert his meal. The second shot 
reached him and he went up in the 
air, as though he was reaching for 
something in the top of the trees. 
Then, deciding he was in a unhealthy 
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spot, he crawled down the hill and hid 
in a big, thick bunch of mountain wil¬ 
lows. Jerome kept a sharp lookout 
until he was satisfied the lion would 
stay until driven out. 
Down the mountain we went, the 
ground being frozen and just enough 
dry, loose snow to make it slick. This 
added an element of thrill as our 
horses, bracing their feet, would slide 
sometimes for a distance of 25 or 30 
feet before we could stop them. Final¬ 
ly we worked our way down the hill¬ 
side through the scrub oak brush and 
scattered aspens until within 200 yards 
of the thicket where the wounded lion 
had disappeared. I took my stand on 
the opposite hillside where I could 
watch the thicket. Mr. Craig went 
around on the other side and went into 
the thicket, walking towards me. I 
watched eagerly for the old lion to 
come out, but soon found that he had 
scented more trouble and had pulled 
out down a brushy, rough canyon. We 
tried to get our shepherd dog to follow 
the lion but old “Bounce” said, dog- 
fashion: “No, not me; I have lost no 
lions, I am looking only for sheep.” 
So finally the traveling came so rough 
we had to abandon our horses and take 
up the chase on foot. The old dog, 
however, decided to take his chances 
with the horses, evidently thinking 
they needed company. 
With all the vim and pep that the 
excitement of such a chase could thrill 
us, we trailed the old lion down the 
brushy canyon tributary to Gill Creek, 
into the beautiful Unaweep Canyon. 
We slid down cliff after cliff following 
the bloody trail, for the lion was evi¬ 
dently suffering from a broken hind 
leg and was otherwise injured, as 
he left a bloody trail over the snow 
and rocks. We came to the brink of 
the canyon and after losing sight of 
the trail we broke down into the canyon 
and could discover no more blood. We 
passed a dense pine thicket and circling 
it decided the old lion had determined 
to make his last stand and either fight 
it out with his pursuers or camp for 
the night, if unmolested. We held a 
consultation and decided on a plan of 
action. I got below and took my stand 
while Jerome climbed up above the 
thicket and pitched a rock into it with 
the hope that his lionship would come 
tearing out. He was in there, all right, 
and on hearing the noise made by the 
lock the old fellow raised, whirled and 
was gone before either of us could get 
a shot. 
Look out below; he is coming!” 
Jerome yelled. It was only a second’s 
warning for the infuriated, wounded 
lion was coming directly at me, snarl¬ 
ing and showing his teeth. He made 
a swipe at me with his big paw as 
he passed. It was one time in my hunt¬ 
ing experiences that I had no use for 
i ifle sights. I had no time to use them. 
As the animal dashed by me his eyes 
looked like two glass balls, his paws 
as large as a frying pan—or maybe a 
fellow’s eyes magnify a little on such 
an unusual occasion. Anyhow, I man¬ 
aged to cut a gash through his front 
leg about four inches long, which only 
helped to terrify him, and he leaped 
over a bluff about 20 feet high and 
fell sprawling into the bottom of the 
canyon but was soon up ag’ain drag¬ 
ging himself down toward the creek. 
Jerome, upon hearing - the report cf 
my 30-30, yelled out: “Did you get 
him?” “No, he is going down the 
creek!” With this information Jerome 
took a short cut across the point to 
head the lion off. Presently I heard 
some rapid shooting and down the hill 
I tumbled in the hopes of being present 
at the last episode of our drama. When 
I reached my partner he had put a 25 
high-power bullet through the old fel¬ 
low’s shoulders, which ended our long 
lion chase. 
Just as darkness began to creep over 
us we finished skinning out his hide, 
which measured 8 feet 6 inches from 
tip of nose to tip of tail. The hide is 
now at Jones Bros, taxidermist shop 
in Denver, where it has been sent for 
mounting. 
This ended the career of a great 
game and livestock destroyer. 
Matt Casto 
