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FOREST AND STREAM. 

[Oct. 12, 1907, 

An Adventure in the Rockies. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
If one has never been in northern Middle Park, 
Colorado, he can form no idea of the denseness 
and gloominess of the forest. There he will find 
trees and logs piled up in every shape in certain 
parts of the hills where a cyclone has swept 
through many years since and leveled the giants 
of the .forest, laying them in piles sometimes 
twenty-five feet high. Time and the elements 
have not yet been sufficient to crumble them to 
pieces and there they lie with the new forest 
grown up around them. During the furious 
storms that sométimes rage in the mountains 
other trees are blown down, and falling on the 
older ones combine to make the forest so dark 
that it is impossible to distinguish objects ten 
rods away in any direction, and the masses im- 
possible of penetration by any but the most 
hardy of mountaineers and hunters. No one, 
unless it was a hunter or trapper, lived within 
seventy-five miles of the valley in which was our 
camp, and there was then no railroad within 
too miles. There was nothing but hills and 
mountains heavily timbered, interspersed here 
and there with beautiful parks and lakes; the 
streams fairly swarmed with trout and the forest 
with game of all descriptions. It was a mag- 
nificent hunting ground for all who cared for 
genuine sport connected with some danger and 
a large share of hardship. 
The incident I am about to relate happened 
in the fall of 1888, when my partner and I were 
hunting and trapping on the headwaters of the 
Frazer in the county I have been describing. 
My “pard” was a man of about sixty years, who 
had been a hunter all his life and his father one 
before him. He was born in Minnesota and 
lived with his parents near a large Indian vil- 
lage. At the age of fifteen he and an Indian 
of the same age started out together, and for 
a year hunted and trapped, living entirely on the 
game they killed and on roots and berries. He 
understood everything connected with a hun- 
ter’s life. Once, he said, he and Young Buffalo 
had nothing to eat for three days but a fat 
rattlesnake, which tasted very much like an eel 
and was not at all disagreeable. At the age of 
twenty-five he left the northwest and came to 
Colorado, where he became acquainted with Kit 
Carson, of whom he had scores of anecdotes to 
relate, and for the remainder of Carson’s life 
the two were fast friends and often hunted to- 
gether. When the late war broke out he joined 
Kit Carson’s regiment and served throughout 
the war as a scout, after which he turned his 
attention to hunting once more. He lived with 
the Indians most of his life, and had been married 
to five or six squaws in different tribes. 
I first made his acquaintance while I was rid- 
ing .from Lusk, Wyo., down to Denver. At 
Cheyenne we fitted out with ammunition suffi- 
cient to last for six months and a few’ other 
things, and before the sun went down were in 
Greeley, Colo. In a week after I first met Sandy 
we arrived at his cabin with supplies enough 
for six or eight months. He had a comfort- 
able log cabin 16 by 12 feet in a small park of 
about twenty-five acres, surrounded by densely 
timbered hills, and on the banks of a small creek 
that emptied into the Frazer. He had about half 
the park fenced in for his five broncos and three 
burros, with a lean to against the cabin for shelter 
for them. Altogether it was my ideal of a hun- 
ter’s home and many a happy evening have I 
sat by the side of the fireplace, and while en- 
joying a pipe listened to the anecdotes and ad- 
ventures of the old man as he related them in 
a way that is impossible for me to imitate. 
We stayed in the hills for two years and those 
days are the happiest I ever spent. Sandy was 
not what he had been twenty years before, and 
although he could ride as far or as hard as J, 
and endure roughness and hardship as well, still 
he could not climb the hills like me, and it was 
not long until he gave almost his whole time 
to things about the camp and trapping along the 
creek; and often he would have more to show 
by hunting around camp than I who had spent 
the whole day over the hills. But sometimes he 
would go with me, as was the case on the day 
this adventure happened. 
We both started out together to hunt on the 
north slope of Arapahoe Peak. We intended to 
hunt in a circle and strike camp about dark. 
We went slowly and cautiously through the 
forest, climbing over windfalls at almost every 
step. It. was a magnificent place for bears, but 
strange to say we did not get a glimpse of any 
creatures whatever, although we saw plenty of 
sign of bears, lion and elk. We traveled until 
about noon, when we stopped beside a small 
stream. We rested for about an hour, for it is 
hard work climbing over fallen trees and 
boulders, with all your senses on the qui vive 
for game, then started out in Indian file, but 
when it commenced to get dark and we had 
seen nothing, I had relaxed my vigilance entirely 
and only thought of getting back to camp. I 
was about seventy-five feet ahead of Sandy, 
climbing over tree trunks and boulders, intent 
on reaching camp before it was entirely dark. 
There was a large tree lying in my way, and in 
climbing over it I slipped and fell on the other 
side nearly on top of a big silvertip bear. 
In attempting to spring over the tree again 
I was not so fortunate, for I received a glanc- 
ing blow on the shoulder that sent me rolling. 
My head came into contact with a rock and I. 
was knocked senseless, so what happened in the 
next five minutes is what Sandy told me. He 
said the bear came over the log just like a 
dog and would have had me, but Sandy got his 
rifle to his shoulder and the bear received a .45 
caliber bullet at the base of the ear and dropped 
within six feet of me. 
I was stunned, and when I commenced to dis- 
tinguish objects around me I found Sandy pour- 
ing water on my head which felt as though it 
would burst. My stout canvas hunting coat had 
been completely stripped from my back, my 
shoulder was sore, and when I attempted to get 
up I found I could not stand as my knee must 
have received a terrible wrench, and for two 
weeks I was laid up with it. When Sandy found 
how I was he bathed the leg and set about fix- 
ing camp on the spot, and inside of an hour 
I was enjoying a nice juicy steak Sandy had 
cut from the bear, and rolling it in a piece of 
the skin and plastering the whole over with a 
thick coating of mud had so baked it. In spite 
of my leg and head I found the meat delicious, 
made none the less so by the fact that I was 
eating the gentleman who had planned to eat 
me. The bear weighed about 600 pounds. 
Next day we found we were within two miles 
of our cabin, and Sandy brought two ponies and 
two burros, and loading the bear on the jacks, 
helped me mount. Although I suffered great 
pain, we at last reached camp. 
It was with regret we at last abandoned our 
camp, but we were desirous of going to a 
different part of the hills. We went to Denver, 
where we disposed of most of our skins. We 
intended to go about fifty miles west of Steam- 
boat Springs, and while Sandy was buying traps 
and other things necessary for a year’s resi- 
dence in the wilderness, I concluded to make a 
trip East. This I did, and surprised all my 
friends who had heard I had been killed by the 
Utes in ’87 and for nearly three years had heard 
nothing of me. There I found that I was in 
duty bound to take charge of a small manu- 
facturing establishment, and old Sandy, the best 
and truest of friends, had to once more bury 
himself in the depths of the forest. 
ee Wiens 

Soft and Hard Shot. 
OAKLAND, N. J., Oct. 4.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: I notice in your issue of Sept. 28 a 
letter over the signature O. H. Hampton. This 
letter is a very interesting one to sportsmen, 
and the matter should not be allowed to drop 
without further experimenting on these lines. 
I intend myself to carry out some experiments 
as soon as I have time, the result of which I 
will send you. 
In the meantime I might mention that while 
in England last spring I saw a collection of 
photographs which showed with marvelous clear- 
ness the condition of a charge of shot while in 
the act of leaving the muzzle on the gun being 
fired. I had not before believed it possible to 

show such a thing as this, still less to mae 
with perfect clearness as was the case with the 
photographs. | 
The chief points which these photographs seem§ 
to prove were that a very hard wadding migt 
be so driven through the charge of shot, at t# 
moment of its leaving the muzzle, as to destr} 
the pattern entirely; also that felt wadding plac} 
next the shot without any card wadding tt 
tween, destroyed the regularity of formation wi} 
which the shot left’the muzzle. 
Many of your readers may not be aware } 
the fact, which I have proved again and agal 
by experiment, that while chilled shot from 
choke bore, which would give, say, a pattern « 
a 30-inch circle of 250 pellets at 40 yards, if rf) 
placed with soft shot would give so much mo} 
open pattern that there would not be more thi! 
an average of 180 pellets on a 30-inch circ}! 
This is no doubt caused by the soft shot durit]! 
pressure in the barrel losing its shape, and 
being more deflected by the wind. f 
Experiments in this direction show that til! 
softer the shot—and there is great variation |! 
this respect in different makes of shot—the molt 
open will be the pattern. Even in the case }s 
chilled shot some makes will be found soft}! 
than others, and the hardest make will invariab 
give the closest and most regular pattern. 
BivuE Rock. | 
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Earning a Name. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
One October, years ago, I went deer hunti! 
with my friend John Madden. We had fair luc! 
killing three the first day. We dressed the twh 
largest and hung them up. The small one w’ 
carried to a logging camp where we received |? 
warm welcome and an invitation from the bof 
to stay and hunt for the camp. In a few day! 
we started for home, intending to carry a sadd* 
of one of the two deer to town, but we foun! 
the largest buck was gone. Madden was he}! 
and said “they steal deer in this country.” | 
A "ef ah 
noticed the bushes were trampled, and followin! 
the marks came upon the remains of the veniso? 
and lots of bear sign. Bruin was the thief. HI! 
had torn down the carcass, dragged it about fift#! 
yards, and ate most of it. te 
After consulting a few minutes Madden tool 
the remaining saddle and started for town, agre«l 
ing to return next morning with supplies, whil?! 
I was to lay in wait for the bear which wel 
bound to turn up in the course of the nepi! 
twenty-four hours. At sunset I ate the vt 
mainder of the lunch the camp cook had give't 
me, found a convenient limb some twenty feel 
up in a maple tree handy to the bait, and riff]. 
in hand watched. 
It was a long cold night. 
never end, but daybreak and bruin came tcf 
gether. I waited about ten minutes before /e 
could get a bead on his head on account of thi 
light and brush between his head and me. Hik 
was a big fellow, and in the uncertain light h i 
looked bigger still. I pulled the trigger, anii 
when the smoke cleared away saw him comin} 
toward me. When he was within ten feet 
gave it to him between the eyes. Down he cami 
bled. i 
I was almost froze, but after running rounite 
and threshing my arms, I managed to build ja 
fire, dressed my bear and found that the firsi 
bullet had hit him on the nose instead of th/{( 
head and had only made him mad. Q 
At 10 o’clock, when Madden came, I had anle 
other deer. We then had breakfast. Maddeils 
then went back to town for a team to bring ini 
our meat and hides, while I built a good fir}y 
and took a sleep using the bear as a pillow, bull 
was awakened to find myself surrounded by hall. 
a dozen Chippewa Indians crying, “Moquawin 
moquaw” (bear, bear), and by that name I havi 
been known to them ever since. It seems thapy 
they had been hunting the same bear and werill 
disappointed at finding him killed. as 
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