Wild Beasts and Their Ways by Sir Samuel White Baker (adult books to read txt) 📕

work, as he had gained instead of losing, and he had saved the State of Wyoming the expense and trouble of hanging a man for a crime which is supposed to deserve no mercy, that of "horse-stealing."

Of course this instance of determination and extreme vigilance gained for Big Bill the admiration of the extremely limited number of people who would be called "the public" in the outlying portions of Wyoming; but although contented with himself, Big Bill was always suspicious of a solitary stranger, as he had an undefined idea that some relative of the defunct horse-dealer might draw a trigger upon him unawares. It was this redoubtable Big Bill who now confided to me that he had been running away from some monster grizzly bear only on the preceding day. He pointed out the spot, as nearly as possible, from where we stood during his narrative. "There," he said, "do you see that low rocky cliff on the tip top of the hill just above us? That was the place just beneath, on that little terrace-like projection with a few spruce firs upon it. There's a steep but not a difficult way down by the side of that cliff, and when young Edmund and I got down upon that terrace, there were a lot of big rocks lying about, and all of a sudden one of 'em stood up on end within 10 yards of me, and sat up regularly smiling at me, with the most innocent and amiable expression of countenance I ever saw. That was the biggest grizzly bear I ever came across; he was as big as the biggest bull I ever saw in the ranche, and there he was, sitting up on end like a dog, and almost laughing. There was no laugh in me, I can tell you; I just lost no time, but turned round, and hooked it; and I don't think I ever ran so fast in all my life."

"But why did you not shoot him?" I exclaimed with astonishment. "Shoot him? Oh yes, that's very likely, when he wasn't farther than 10 yards off, and I should have had such a poor start, and no place to run to! No, I knew better than that, with a single-barrel Sharp .450. If I had had your double-barrel .577, with a big solid bullet, and 6 drams of powder, I shouldn't have run away; but I go hunting for skins with my little Sharp, and I don't want a grizzly to go hunting for my skin; not if I know it. I've left him for you, and d'ye see, if you go up there this morning, there's some snow about, and you'll likely come across his tracks. If you do, you'll be astonished, I can tell you."

Ten minutes after this discourse, I was on my way up the mountain side in the hope of meeting this extraordinary bear.

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