Silver Tips in Mexico 
A Big Game Trip in the Fastnesses of the Sierra Madre Mountains 
aM HAT do you say, Bill, that 
\VV we go down there for a hunt 
this fall?” 
This was my friend J. A. as we sat 
on his verandah one beautiful evening 
in early September. We had been dis- 
cussing our various experiences with 
rod and gun, and in the course of events 
I had related some facts concerning a 
trip I had made into the Sierra Madre 
Mountains of Chihuahua. 
On that particular trip I had with 
me a Mexican whom I had known for 
a number of years, and who was thor- 
oughly familiar with that part of the 
country. We were journeying west 
from El Valle, a small inland town on 
the Santa Marie River, and my guide 
was relating stories of some of the 
large silver-tips to be found in that 
neighborhood. 
“Well, Ram,’ I replied (his name‘ 
was Ramon Arturo Frederico Reyes, 
but I had long ago shortened it to just 
plain “Ram’’). “I don’t doubt the ve- 
racity of your stories, but I would very 
much like to see one of those fellows, 
and then it might not be hard to get 
me down here for a hunt some time.” 
“Just wait,” he replied, “I think you 
wlil be convinced before the sun sets 
to-night.” 
To this I made no reply, for I knew 
Ram well enough to know that when he 
made a promise, it generally bore fruit. 
In the late afternoon we arrived at 
an apparently dry stream, which came 
down through a canyon from the west. 
I remarked to Ram about this dry 
stream, whereupon he informed that the 
stream bed at this point was very deep 
with gravel, and that the waters flowed 
some two feet below the surface. This 
condition soon became apparent, for 
we presently arrived at the spot where 
the creek did its fadeaway. There the 
mules paused to stick their noses thirst- 
ily into the cool, clear waters. Ram 
informed me that we were soon to make 
camp, but before proceeding he wanted 
to look around a bit. 
io Oud hold the mules here until I re- 
turn,” he said. “Then maybe 
you'll see something interesting.” 
As he moved off, I sat down upon a 
convenient log, and lit up the old briar 
to enjoy some solid comfort, which was 
quite acceptable after being all day in 
the saddle. After what seemed no 
more than fifteen minutes, I heard Ram 
returning, and as he approached, the 
By HOWARD SLATEN 
expression on his face told me he had 
news. 
“Go up there around the first bend 
where the mud hole is, and see what 
you think of those bear tracks—deer, 
too.” 
AGER to verify Ram’s remarks, I 
put my horse into a canter and 
after rounding a rocky promontory, I 
saw a short distance ahead what ap- 
peared to be a small pond, at a place 
where the canyon walls fell back to 
form a miniature valley. The soft 
earth around this bit of water was lit- 
erally pock-marked with the foot-prints 
of game, mostly deer and antelope, but 
there was plenty of visible evidence that 
bears and lions were frequenters of 
this spot. As near as I could judge, 

The author with a fine grizzly trophy 
there were the tracks of at least four 
good-sized bears, while here and there 
were the cats-paw prints of a full- 
grown mountain lion. One bear track in 
particular was unmistakably that of a 
giant silver-tip. It was the largest 
bear track that I had ever seen, and 
the depth of its imprint gave evidence 
of the weight of its maker. 
I was convinced of the possibilities. 
Ram’s bear stories now took on more 
credence. And that night in camp, by 
a beautiful spring, some two miles 
farther on, I told Ram that I had re- 
solved that he and I should return there 
at the first opportunity and try to find 
the monster who had made those enor- 
mous tracks. : 
T was the telling of this particular 
event that had stirred up Jack’s 
blood to the point of desire—hence his 
suggestion, as set forth at the begin- 
ning of this story. 
Jack and I planned to go about the 
first of November. So I accordingly 
dispatched a letter to Ram, appraising 
him of our plans. His reply was en- 
thusiastic to say the least, and. in- 
formed me that game was more num- 
erous than ever, and that he would meet 
us in Casa Grande on the second of 
November. 
In the early morning of November 
first I paced excitedly up and down the 
station platform at Columbus, New 
Mexico, awaiting the arrival of the 
train from El Paso, which was to bring 
my friend Jack, together with various 
and sundry articles of equipment. 
The train had scarcely halted when 
-Jack stepped off, clothed in a broad 
grin and his hunting apparel. We 
quickly stowed the extra duffle in the 
tonneau of the car, and made our way 
across to a “chink” restaurant, where 
we got on the outside of an enormous 
batch of “ham and” as a _ sustainer 
against the long drive to Casa Grande. 
Jack had Visited the customs officials 
at Juarez, and obtained the necessary 
papers to clear us, in case we were 
questioned anywhere ‘enroute. So, be- 
ing thus prepared, we crossed the in- 
ternational boundary just as old Sol- 
was peeking over the eastern horizon. 
The morning air was chilly, so we ap- 
preciated the warmth of our sheep- 
lined coats. (Let me remark here that 
although the days are usually comfort- 
able in the Sierra Madre region, the 
nights, except in mid-summer, are ex- 
ceedingly frosty, and one requires warm 
clothing and warm bedding.) 
WITHIN two hours we had shed our 
coats, as the warm sun rays made 
us quite comfortable without them. We 
had our noonday lunch, at Colonia 
Dias, a Mormon colony on the Ascen- 
sion River, and sunset found us at 
Colonia Dublau, another Mormon col- 
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