Wild Beasts and Their Ways, Reminiscences of Europe, Asia, Africa and America. Volume 1

Upon arrival at the summit, there was a splendid view of the main range of the Rocky Mountains, about 70 miles distant, across a desolate region some 4000 feet below the point upon which we stood. There was a little snow, but only in patches on the mountain top, and, when near the terrace upon which Big Bill had had his interview with the bear, we certainly discovered an enormous track, the largest that I have ever seen.

We attempted to follow this for some hours, but to no purpose; on several occasions I could have taken deadly shots at black-tail deer and wapiti, but I determined to reserve my bullet for the big game, the object of our pursuit. The day passed away in failure. The next day was equally disappointing; from morning to sunset I fagged over the summits and the spruce fir sides of the mountains, without a trace of the big bear. We passed the old traces that we had seen the previous day upon the snow, but they were still more indistinct, and there was nothing fresh. I was determined, if possible, to find this bear, therefore I devoted a third day to the pursuit, discarding all other game. On the third morning I started with Texas Bill and Jem Bourne, all mounted, and we rode by a circuitous route to the summit of the hill above the valley of our camp. The snow had melted in most places, leaving only small half-thawed patches. We had so thoroughly explored the entire hillside for a distance of several miles during the last two days, that I arranged a beat on the other side of the mountain, upon the northern slope, facing the far-distant Rocky Mountains.

There were no spruce forests upon this side, but the long incline was merely a sheet of rough prairie grass about 18 inches high, intersected by deep ravines, filled with dwarf cotton-wood trees, resembling the silver-barked black poplar. These trees grew about 25 feet high, and as thick as a man's arm, but so close together that it was difficult to force a way through on horseback.

There were many isolated patches of this covert in various places upon the face of this northern slope, all of which were likely to harbour bears or other game. My eye caught instinctively a long dark ravine which cut the mountain from top to base, extending several miles; this was intersected about a mile and a half from the summit by a smaller ravine, also springing from the drainage of the highest ridge, and at the point of junction the two formed a letter Y, the tail continuing, widened by the increased flow of water. There was at this season a very slight stream about an inch in depth, which resulted from the melting of the small amount of snow upon the heights.

There could not be a more likely place for bears, and I instructed my two men to ride to the bottom of the ravine, and to force their horses through the thornless thicket, making no other noise, but occasionally to tap the stems of trees with the handles of their whips.

I dismounted, and my well-trained horse followed close behind me down the steep hillside, exactly on the border of the ravine. This was not more than 80 yards across; thus I could command both sides should a bear break covert, when disturbed by my two beaters; there could not have been a more favourable locality.

My men were thoroughly experienced, and the noise made by the horses in struggling over stones and in rustling through the cotton-wood trees was quite sufficient to disturb any animals that might have been there; accordingly they seldom tapped the tree-stems.

Black-tail deer were very plentiful; these were about the size of an ordinary fallow-deer, and they were extremely fat and delicious venison; but their horns were still in velvet, and would not be clean until October. I could have shot several of these animals; but I was full of good resolutions to resist all temptation, and to restrict my shooting to the long-sought bear.

We had followed the course of the ravine for about a mile, when I suddenly heard a tremendous rush among the cotton trees beneath me on the right, followed by excited shouts—"Look out! look out! A bear! a bear!"

I halted immediately, and in a few seconds three splendid wapiti stags broke covert about 100 yards before me, and at full gallop passed across the open ground by which I was descending. My good resolutions crowded upon me as I instinctively aimed at the stag with the finest head, and I resisted the temptation nobly until they were nearly out of sight, passing down a hollow on my left about 150 yards distant. Somehow or other I pulled the trigger; a cloud of dust suddenly arose from the spot where the three stags had disappeared, and I felt sure that the wapiti was down.

At the sound of the shot my men struggled up the steep ascent and joined me. "Why did you shout 'A bear! a bear!'?" I asked.—"It was a bear, wasn't it? I saw a great brown rump for a moment, and I thought it was the bear."—"No bear at all," I answered, "and I have been fool enough to shoot at a wapiti. . . . I think you will find it just in the hollow beneath the ridge."

The men rode to the spot, and sure enough a magnificent stag was lying dead, shot through the shoulder. A wapiti stag weighs about 900 lbs. when fat in August and September. The fat upon the brisket of this animal was 5 inches thick, and that upon the rump and loins was nearly 3 inches. We cut this off in one complete piece, and when cold, within half an hour it stood up like a cuirass. This was one of the finest that I ever saw, and we took the trouble to cut up all the choicest joints, and concealed them in the branches of a species of yew that was growing upon the edge of the ravine. The delay from my folly in taking this shot exceeded an hour, but the head of the stag was a handsome specimen, and we placed it upon a large boulder of rock, to be sent for upon a future occasion.

We again recommenced our search, comforting ourselves with the reflection that "if the bear was in the ravine, the report of the shot would not affect it; and if it was not in the ravine, it would not matter."

As we continued the descent of the mountain slope, the ravine grew wider, and it was now quite 100 yards across; this would increase the probability of finding game, as there was a larger area of covert at the bottom. I was walking carefully in front of my horse, when, without any alarm given by my men from the bottom of the ravine, my attention was attracted by a rushing sound in the dense cotton trees, and I observed several that were in the thickest part shaking in an extraordinary manner, as though an elephant or a rhinoceros was rubbing itself against the stems.

I ran forward towards the spot, and within 15 paces of me I saw a wapiti stag caught by the horns; these were completely entangled among the stems of the thickly growing trees, and the splendid beast was taken prisoner. I could only see occasionally a portion of the horns, and then, as it struggled to escape, I caught sight for a moment of a head and neck sufficient to prove that it was a very splendid beast, with beautiful spreading antlers. The animal was almost within my grasp, and I could have shot it with a pistol; but my good resolutions stood firm. I refused the shot, as we had meat of the finest quality that would keep for a week, and to kill another wapiti would be mere waste of life. In a couple of minutes occupied with this human reflection, yet sorely tempted to take the shot, the stag broke loose, and I heard it crashing full speed down the ravine, and my men shouting loudly that I should "look out!"

Hardly two minutes elapsed before I saw, at about 300 yards' distance, the most magnificent stag that I have ever seen. This splendid beast issued from the ravine, and exhibited a pair of antlers that, large as the animal was, appeared quite disproportioned to its size. They resembled the wintry appearance of a large branch from an oak tree, and this was the prize which I could not distinctly see when entangled in the cotton-wood, within my grasp. This noble stag descended the mountain side at full speed, and I watched it with longing eyes until it was completely out of sight, fully determined that I would never indulge in good resolutions again, that humanity was humbug, philanthropy puerile, and that the rule of success depended upon the principle "Never lose an opportunity."

I was fairly disgusted with myself, and calling my men, I described to them the magnificence of my lost stag. Instead of consolation they said, "Well, if you're come all this way to shoot, and you won't shoot, I don't quite see the use of your coming." That was all I received as a reward for having spared an animal's life which I did not wish to sacrifice wantonly.

"All right; go back and drive the covert to the end; you may depend upon it I'll take the next shot, whatever it may be." The men rode down the steep sides of the ravine, and we recommenced our beat.

Nothing moved for some time, and I mounted my horse as we were approaching the junction of the smaller ravine on my left, which formed the letter Y. I was about 100 yards ahead of my two men, and I descended into the stony depression, crossed the little stream, and ascended the opposite side with some little difficulty, as it was extremely steep, and, together with my 12 lb. rifle, cartridges, and a 26 lb. Mexican saddle, I rode about 18 stone. We reached the top, from which I could look down into the larger ravine on my right, and the lesser on my left, but a number of large rocks, 3 or 4 feet in height, and others of smaller size, made it difficult for my horse to thread his way. Just at this moment I heard the report of a revolver and shouts in high excitement—"The bear! the bear!" Before I had time to dismount in the awkward position among the rocks, I saw a large bear within two yards of me, as he had run at full speed up the steep bank from the bottom of the ravine without having observed me, owing to the rocks; he therefore passed close to my horse upon the other side, only separated from us by the large rock between. In an instant the bear, having seen the horse, turned to the left, and dashed down hill into the smaller ravine which I had just crossed. I jumped off my horse, and ran along the edge, ready to take a shot the moment that I could obtain a clear view of the bear, which I could see indistinctly as it ran along the bottom of the channel, in which was the trickling stream. As I followed, always keeping the animal within view, I felt certain that it would presently forsake this narrow gully, and would cut across the open to regain the large ravine from which it had been dislodged. I therefore raised the 150 yards sight as I ran along the edge, to be in readiness should it try the open. The bear kept me running at my best to keep it in sight, and I was just beginning to think it advisable to fire through the intervening bushes, when, as I had expected, it suddenly turned to the left, ran up the bank with extreme activity, and appeared upon the steep open grass-land, with the intention of cutting across to the larger hiding-place. This was a splendid chance, as the dark colour of the bear looked well upon the yellow grass. I made a most satisfactory shot with the .577 at 150 yards, the bullet passing through the kidneys, and the bear rolled over and over the whole way down the steep grassy hill, until stopped by the thick bushes, which alone prevented it from rolling into the streamlet at the bottom.

My two men came galloping up, and shortly dismounted, and we all descended to the place where the bear was lying, almost dead. In fact, it died while we were standing over it.

"Well done; that was a fine shot, and we've got the grizzly bear at last," exclaimed Jem Bourne. "THE bear? This is not the bear that Big Bill ran from," I replied; "impossible, this is a silver-tip, and not a true grizzly." The argument that ensued over the carcase of that bear was quite enough to make me an unbeliever in the ordinary accounts of native hunters. I calculated that the body weighed about 600 lbs., as my two men were 6 feet high, and exceedingly powerful, and our united efforts could not move the bear one inch from the spot where it had fallen; it may have exceeded that weight, as it was full of fat, and in the finest condition. We skinned it, and had some trouble to induce the horse to permit the hide to be lashed upon its back. Although a fine bear, Big Bill on our return would not acknowledge that it could be compared with the monster which he had seen with such "a smiling countenance." I was quite of his opinion, as the tracks which I saw in the snow were very much larger than the paws of the bear that I have described.

The foot of a bear leaves a print very similar to that of a human being who happens to be flatfooted, but the breadth is larger in proportion to that of a man. It is a curious fact, that a shot through the kidneys of any creature occasions almost instantaneous death, and the animal falls immediately, as though shot through the neck; this proves the terrible shock to the system, as the body is smitten with a total paralysis.

The opinions of professional hunters differ in such an extraordinary manner upon the question of bears, that it would be impossible for a mere visitor to arrive at a satisfactory decision. It is admitted by all that the grizzly bear is the monarch; next to him in size is the cinnamon bear, named from the colour of its fur; No. 3 is the silver-tipped; and No. 4 is the black bear.

The question to be decided remains: "Is the cinnamon bear the grizzly, with some local difference in colour?" My people called the silver-tipped bears "grizzlies," which was an evident absurdity; but, as they were men experienced in the Big Horn range, it was difficult to disbelieve their evidence concerning the occasional presence of a true grizzly. I found, whilst riding through an extensive forest of spruce fir, an enormous skull of a bear, the largest that I have ever seen, except that of the grizzly, compared with which all others were mere babies; what could this have been, unless a true specimen of that variety?

There can be little doubt that bears of different kinds intermingle occasionally by cross breeds, and many are met with which do not exactly correspond with the colouring which distinguishes the varieties already mentioned; but in my opinion those distinct varieties actually exist, and any departure occasioned by cross breeding is simply an accident. Eighteen months before my visit to the Big Horn range, the present Lord Lonsdale, together with a large party, was hunting upon the same ground, and at that time the country, being new to British sportsmen, was undisturbed. The bears were so numerous and unsophisticated that the party bagged thirty-two, and game of all kinds indigenous to the locality was in the superlative. It is astonishing that any game remains after the persistent attacks of gunners, especially in such countries, where open plains expose the animals to the sight of man. In the Big Horn range, at high altitudes of from 8000 to 12,000 feet, the open grass prairie-ground predominates. There are plateaux and hill-tops; deep canyons or clefts, from 1500 to 2000 feet sheer, like sudden rifts in the earth's surface; long secluded valleys, with forest-covered bottoms extending for many miles, and slopes of every conceivable gradient descending to a lower level of frightfully broken ground, joining the foot of the main range of Rocky Mountains at a distance of from 70 to 90 miles. There are also isolated patches of cotton-wood upon the sides of slopes, which afford excellent covert for deer and bears.

The actual width from margin to margin of the high land does not exceed 26 miles, although the length may be 100. It may readily be imagined that a month's shooting upon this area would be sufficient to scare the animals from the neighbourhood, more especially as the hunters are invariably on horseback, and traverse great distances each day.

When I was there we very seldom found bears upon the open, as they retired to the obscurity of the forests before break of day. Bob Stewart assured me that two seasons ago it was impossible to ride out in the early morning without seeing bears, but he counted up a long reckoning of seventy-two killed since the visit of Lord Lonsdale's party. This must have sensibly diminished the stock, and have afforded considerable experience to the survivors. Nevertheless upon several occasions bears exhibited themselves during broad daylight without being sought for.

We were tired of nothing but venison in every shape, and although the German cook, "little Henry," was a good fellow, he could not manage to change the menu without other provisions in the larder. I accordingly devoted myself one afternoon to shooting "sage-hens"; this is a species of grouse about the size of a domestic fowl, and, when young, there is nothing better. The old birds are not only tough, but they taste too strongly of sage, from subsisting upon the buds and young shoots of the wild plant. They were very numerous in certain localities, having much the same habits as the black game of North Britain, therefore we knew at once where to seek them.

Our camp was within a few feet of the little stream, just within the forest at the bottom of the valley; the dense mass of spruce firs extended for 8 or 10 miles along the slopes, only broken at intervals by gaps a few hundred yards wide, which divided the forest from top to base, and formed admirable places for ascending to the great plateau on the summit. This plateau extended for several miles, and was nearly level, the surface being liberally strewed with stones about 2 feet in length, but exceedingly flat, as though prepared for roofing slates; these had been turned over incessantly by the bears, in search for what Bob Stewart called "bugs"—the general and comprehensive American name for every insect.

We found a number of sage-hens upon this plateau, and I picked out the young ones with my rabbit rifle, as they ran upon the sage-covered ground. Texas Bill was soon loaded with game, and discarding the old birds that had been killed by mistake, we descended the grass-covered gap between the forests, and returned direct to camp. Little Henry had now a change of materials for our dinner.

It was nearly dusk, and I went into the small tent to have a hot bath after the day's work. I was just drying myself, after the operation of washing, when I heard an excited voice shout "Bears! bears!" It was useless for me to ask questions through the canvas, therefore I hurried on my clothes and ran out.

Texas Bill was gone. It appeared that two large bears had been seen as they came along the glen, and turned up the open slope, by which we had descended after shooting the sage-hens. My best horse had not been unsaddled, as the evening was chilly; therefore Texas Bill had immediately jumped into the saddle, and was off in full pursuit.

"What rifle did he take?" I inquired of little Henry. "He didn't take any rifle, but he's got his six-shooter, which is much better in his hands, as he knows it," was the reply.

There was very little light remaining, and with the long start which the bears obtained, I could not think that Bill would have the slightest chance of overhauling them before they reached the forest; this they would assuredly attempt, the instant they saw themselves pursued. If Bill could only get them upon the open plateau on the summit, he might be able to manage them, but with a gallop up a steep hill to commence with, in the late dusk of evening, the odds were decidedly against him.

It became dark, and we expected Bill's return every minute. Jem Bourne, my head man, who was always a grumbler, and exceedingly jealous, began to ventilate his feelings. "A pretty fool he's made of himself to go galloping after bears in a dark night, and nothing but a six-shooter! . . . A nice thing for our best horse to break his legs over those big rocks that nobody can see at night. . . . Well, he'll have to sleep out, and he'll find it pretty cold before the morning, I know. . . . What business he's got to take that horse without permission, beats me hollow!"

This sort of muttered growling was disturbed by two shots in quick succession, far up, above the summit of the forest. There could be no doubt that Bill had overhauled the bears.

By this time it was quite dark, and we drew our own conclusions from the two pistol shots, the unanimous decision being that Bill had fired in the hope of turning the bears when entering the forest; but what chance had he in the dark, and single-handed?

I did not take much interest in such a hopeless chase, but I was anxious about the horse, as the country was so rough that it would be most difficult to pick a way through holes and rocks, to say nothing of fallen trees, which, even during daylight, required consideration.

We piled immense pine-logs upon the fire, in addition to bundles of spruce branches; these made a blaze 20 feet high, and would form a beacon as a guide in the dark night.

I had taken the time by my watch when we heard the two shots upon the mountain top; twenty minutes had passed, and my lips were almost numbed by whistling with my fingers as a signal that could be heard during a calm night at a great distance. Suddenly this signal appeared to be answered by a shot, from a totally different direction from the first that we had heard; then, quickly, another shot; followed in irregular succession, until we had counted six. "His six-shooter's empty now, but he's got plenty of cartridges in his belt," exclaimed little Henry, the cook.

What was the object of these shots? He could not have followed the bears that distance in the dark, as his position was quite a mile from the spot where he had first fired; and he was now, as nearly as we could imagine, above a rocky cliff which bordered a grassy gap that would enable him to descend into our valley; he would then find his way parallel with the stream direct to our camp.

My men wished to fire some shots in response, but I declined to permit this disturbance of the neighbourhood, as it would have effectually driven all animals from the locality; we merely piled logs upon the fire, which could be seen from the heights at a great distance, and we waited in anxious expectation.

Nearly an hour passed away without any further sign. Bill could not have fired those six shots in succession to attract our attention, as it would have been a needless waste of ammunition: if he had expected a response to a signal, he would have fired a single shot, to be followed by another some minutes later. We now considered that he might have severely wounded the bear by the first two shots that we had heard, and that he had followed the beast up in some extraordinary manner, and at length discovered it.

We were about to give up all hope of his return, and knowing that he, as a smoker, was never without a supply of matches, we expected to see the glare of a distant fire, by which he would sit up throughout the night, when presently we heard the sound of whistling, and the clatter of a horse's feet among the stones of the brook, within 150 yards of our position.

In a couple of minutes Texas Bill appeared, leading the horse, which was covered with dry foam. In one hand he held a large bloody mass; this was the liver of a bear!

"Well done, Bill!" we all exclaimed, except the sulky Jem Bourne, who only muttered, "A pretty state you've brought that horse to; why, I shouldn't have known him."

The story was now told by the modest Bill, who did not imagine that he had done anything to excite admiration. This was his account of the hunt in the dark: "Well, you see, when the two bears were going up the open slope, down which you and I came, after shooting the sage-hens, all I could do was to gallop after them, to keep them from getting into the forest; when of course they would have been gone for ever. One of them did make a rush, and passed across me before I could stop him, and I didn't mind this, as I couldn't have managed two. I got in front of the other, and cracked my whip at him, and at last I got him well in the open on the big plateau, where we shot the sage-hens. He got savage now, and was determined to push by me and gain the forest; but I rode right at him, and seeing that I couldn't stop him, I fired my six-shooter to turn him, just as he made a dash at the horse. He made another rush at the horse, and I turned him with another shot, within a couple of paces' distance. This made him take off in a new direction, and he tried to cross the big plateau, intending, no doubt, to get to the forest a couple of miles away on the pointed hill. It was so dark that I could hardly see him, and my only chance was to ride round him, and work him till he should stand quiet enough to let me take a steady shot.

"He went on, sometimes here, sometimes there, and at last he changed his mind, and seeing that he couldn't get away from the horse across the open, he turned, and made for the 10 mile forest. It was as much as I could do to drive him, by shouting and cracking my whip whenever I headed him; if I had only once let him get out of sight, I should never have seen him again. The ground is full of stones, as you know, which bothered the horse in turning quickly; but we went on, sometimes full gallop straight away, at other times dancing round and round, until at last the old bear got regularly tuckered-out, and he was so done he could hardly move. There he was, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, standing, panting and blowing, and my horse wasn't much better, I can tell you. Well, I was drawn up as close to him as though I was going to strike him, and he was so completely done there wasn't any fight in him; my horse's flanks were heaving in such a way that I could hardly load the two chambers that I had fired. I was determined to have all my six shots ready before I began to fire, and it was just lucky that I did, for I'm blessed if I could kill him. There he stood, regularly exhausted-like, and he took shot after shot, and never seemed to notice, or to care for anything. At last I almost touched him, when I fired my sixth cartridge between his shoulders, and he dropped stone dead. That's all that happened, and I thought you wouldn't believe me if I came back without a proof; so I cut him open, and took out his liver to show you; and here it is."

Although this fine fellow thought nothing of his achievement, I considered it to be the most extraordinary feat of horsemanship that I had ever heard of, combined with wonderful determination. In the darkness of night, without a moon, to hunt single-handed, and to kill, a full-grown bear with a revolver, was in my experience an unprecedented triumph in shikar.

Early on the following morning I sent for the bear's skin. It proved to be a large silver-tipped, and a close examination exhibited the difficulties of the encounter during darkness.

Eight shots had been fired from the commencement, to the termination by the last fatal bullet; but, although Texas Bill was an excellent shot with his revolver, he had missed seven times, and the eighth was the only bullet that struck the bear. This had entered between the shoulders vertically, proving the correctness of his description, as he must have shot directly downwards. The bullet had passed through the centre of the heart, and had escaped near the brisket, having penetrated completely through this formidable animal.

Upon my return to England I immediately purchased a similar revolver of Messrs. Colt and Co.–the long frontier pistol, .450 bullet.

Although bears were scarce, we occasionally met them unexpectedly. As a rule, I took Jem Bourne and Texas Bill out shooting, the man Gaylord had to look after the twelve or thirteen animals, and little Henry, the German cook, was left in camp to assist my wife. Upon one of these rather dull days the camp was enlivened by the visit of three large bears. These creatures emerged from the neighbouring jungle, and commenced a search for food within 50 yards of the camp, only separated by a narrow streamlet of 10 feet in width. For about twenty minutes they were busily engaged in working up the ground like pigs, in search of roots or worms; in this manner they amused themselves harmlessly, until they suddenly observed that they were watched, after which they retreated to the forest.

My acquaintance Bob Stewart assured me that the bears had become so shy, that the only way to succeed was to "jump a bear." This term was explained as follows: you were to ride through forest, until you came across the fresh track of a bear; you were then to follow it up on foot, until you should arrive at the secluded spot where the bear slept during the daytime, in the recesses of the forest. It would of course jump out of its bed when disturbed, and this was termed "jumping a bear." Of course you incurred the chance of the animal's attack, when thus suddenly intruded upon at close quarters.

I agreed to start with Bob upon such an excursion; but I found that this kind of sport was more adapted for his light weight than my own, and that his moccasins were far superior to my boots, for running along the stems of fallen spruce trees at all kinds of angles, and for jumping from one prostrate trunk to another, in a squirrel-like fashion, more in harmony with a man of 9 stone than one of 15. We started together, Bob mounted upon his little mare, while I rode my best horse, "Buckskin," who was trained, like many of these useful animals, to stand alone, and graze, without moving away from his position for hours; should it be necessary to dismount, and leave him. The horses thus tutored are invaluable for shooting purposes, as it is frequently necessary to stalk an animal on foot; in which case, the bridle is simply arranged by drawing the reins over the head, and throwing them in his front, to fall upon the ground before his fore-feet. When thus managed, the horse will feed, but he will never move away from his position, and he will wait for hours for the return of his master.