We had with us four pack and saddle horses;and of these I took a very intelligent and gentle little bronco mare,which possessed the invaluable trait of always staying near camp,even when not hobbled.Iwas not hampered with much of an outfit,having only my buffalo sleeping-bag,a fur coat,and my washing kit,with a couple of spare pairs of socks and some handkerchiefs.A frying-pan,some salt pork,and a hatchet,made up a light pack,which,with the bedding,Ifastened across the stock saddle by means of a rope and a spare packing cinch.My cartridges and knife were in my belt;my compass and matches,as always,in my pocket.I walked,while the little mare followed almost like a dog,often without my having to hold the lariat which served as halter.
The country was for the most part fairly open,as I kept near the foot-hills where glades and little prairies broke the pine forest.The trees were of small size.There was no regular trail,but the course was easy to keep,and I had no trouble of any kind save on the second day.That afternoon I was following a stream which at last "canyoned up,"that is sank to the bottom of a canyon-like ravine impossible for a horse.I started up a side valley,intending to cross from its head coulies to those of another valley which would lead in below the canyon.
However,I got enmeshed in the tangle of winding valleys at the foot of the steep mountains,and as dusk was coming on I halted and camped in a little open spot by the side of a small,noisy brook,with crystal water.The place was carpeted with soft,wet,green moss,dotted red with the kinnikinnic berries,and at its edge,under the trees where the ground was dry,I threw down the buffalo bed on a mat of sweet-smelling pine needles.Making camp took but a moment.Iopened the pack,tossed the bedding on a smooth spot,knee-haltered the little mare,dragged up a few dry logs,and then strolled off,rifle on shoulder,through the frosty gloaming,to see if I could pick up a grouse for supper.
For half a mile I walked quickly and silently over the pine needles,across a succession of slight ridges separated by narrow,shallow valleys.The forest here was composed of lodge-pole pines,which on the ridges grew close together,with tall slender trunks,while in the valleys the growth was more open.Though the sun was behind the mountains there was yet plenty of light by which to shoot,but it was fading rapidly.
At last,as I was thinking of turning towards camp,I stole up to the crest of one of the ridges,and looked over into the valley some sixty yards off.Immediately I caught the loom of some large,dark object;and another glance showed me a big grisly walking slowly off with his head down.He was quartering to me,and I fired into his flank,the bullet,as I afterwards found,ranging forward and piercing one lung.
At the shot he uttered a loud,moaning grunt and plunged forward at a heavy gallop,while I raced obliquely down the hill to cut him off.
After going a few hundred feet he reached a laurel thicket,some thirty yards broad,and two or three times as long which he did not leave.I ran up to the edge and there halted,not liking to venture into the mass of twisted,close-growing stems and glossy foliage.
Moreover,as I halted,I head him utter a peculiar,savage kind of whine from the heart of the brush.Accordingly,I began to skirt the edge,standing on tiptoe and gazing earnestly to see if I could not catch a glimpse of his hide.When I was at the narrowest part of the thicket,he suddenly left it directly opposite,and then wheeled and stood broadside to me on the hill-side,a little above.He turned his head stiffly towards me;scarlet strings of froth hung from his lips;his eyes burned like embers in the gloom.
I held true,aiming behind the shoulder,and my bullet shattered the point or lower end of his heart,taking out a big nick.Instantly the great bear turned with a harsh roar of fury and challenge,blowing the blood foam from his mouth,so that I saw the gleam of his white fangs;and then he charged straight at me,crashing and bounding through the laurel bushes,so that it was hard to aim.I waited until he came to a fallen tree,raking him as he topped it with a ball,which entered his chest and went through the cavity of his body,but he neither swerved nor flinched,and at the moment I did not know that I had struck him.
He came steadily on,and in another second was almost upon me.I fired for his forehead,but my bullet went low,entering his open mouth,smashing his lower jaw and going into the neck.I leaped to one side almost as I pulled trigger;and through the hanging smoke the first thing I saw was his paw as he made a vicious side blow at me.The rush of his charge carried him past.As he struck he lurched forward,leaving a pool of bright blood where his muzzle hit the ground;but he recovered himself and made two or three jumps onwards,while Ihurriedly jammed a couple of cartridges into the magazine,my rifle holding only four,all of which I had fired.Then he tried to pull up,but as he did so his muscles seemed suddenly to give way,his head drooped,and he rolled over and over like a shot rabbit.Each of my first three bullets had inflicted a mortal wound.
It was already twilight,and I merely opened the carcass,and then trotted back to camp.Next morning I returned and with much labor took off the skin.The fur was very fine,the animal being in excellent trim,and unusually bright-colored.Unfortunately,in packing it out Ilost the skull,and had to supply its place with one of plaster.The beauty of the trophy,and the memory of the circumstances under which I procured it,make me value it perhaps more highly than any other in my house.
