A grizzly territory is covered with a web of dim trails over which he usually travels. If surprised, the grizzly turns and retreats over the trail on which he was advancing. A bear"s trail, close behind him, is a dangerous place to be in if he does retreat. Many a hunter, a few feet off the trail, has had the alarmed bear rush by without noticing him, while others, who were directly on the trail, have been run over or a.s.sailed by the bear.
When in a trap or cornered, a wounded grizzly sometimes feigns death.
Apparently, when he considers his situation desperate, he sees in this method the possibility of throwing his a.s.sailant off his guard. A trapper once invited me to go the rounds with him along his string of traps. In one of these was a young grizzly. At short range the hunter fired two shots and the bear fell in a heap.
We advanced within a few feet and saw that the bear was bleeding freely, but halted "to be sure he was dead." "I make it a point," said the hunter, "to wait until a bear dies before I start skinning him. Once I made the mistake of putting down my rifle and starting to skin the bear before he was dead."
We stepped forward, and the hunter prodded the bear with the end of the rifle-barrel. Like a jumping-jack the bear sprang at the hunter, knocked him over backwards, tore a hole through his clothing, and ripped a bad wound in his skin on the thigh. Fortunately the chain and clog on the trap held the bear from following up his a.s.sault.
On another occasion I was with a party of mounted hunters with dogs who chased a grizzly out of his territory and cornered him in a deep box canon. He was at bay and the excited dogs were harrying him as we came up. He stood in the end of the canon, facing out, evidently watching for an opportunity to escape. He discouraged all attacks by his swift and cool-headed defense. If a bush stirred behind he made a feint to strike.
If a dog came close to his side he appeared to strike without looking.
He did not allow any rear movements or attacks to divert his attention from the front, where the hunters stood at short range with rifles ready. They waited for a chance to shoot without hitting a dog. Suddenly the grizzly charged and all was confusion. With a stroke of fore paw he broke the jaw of one horse, with another stroke he caved in three ribs of another horse, he bit and broke a man"s arm, disemboweled one dog and wrecked another, and made his safe get-away. Not a shot had been fired.
There was no pursuit.
While with three hunters, I once came close upon a grizzly who was digging for mice. The hunters opened fire. For seconds the canon walls crashed and echoed from the resounding rattling gunnery. Thirty or forty shots were fired. The bear escaped. A hunter took up the trail and the following day ran down the bear and killed him. He carried no wounds except the one from the shot fired by this hunter. He weighed perhaps five hundred pounds.
But the story of the shooting as told by one of the first three hunters was something like this: "We came upon the largest grizzly that I had ever seen. He must have weighed fifteen hundred pounds or more. He was busy digging in an opening and didn"t see us until we opened on him at short range. As we had time, we aimed carefully, and each of us got in several shots before he reached the woods. He ran with as much strength as if nothing had happened; yet we simply filled him full of lead--made a regular lead mine of him."
The grizzly is not an exceedingly difficult animal to kill if shot in a vital spot--in the upper part of the heart, in the brain, or through the centre of the shoulder into the spine. Hunters too often fire aimlessly, or become so frightened that they do not even succeed in hitting the bear, though firing shot after shot in his general direction.
William H. Wright once killed five bears with five shots in rapid succession. I was with a hunter in a berry-patch when four grizzlies fell with four lightning-like shots. George McClelland in Wyoming killed nine bears inside of a minute. He probably fired sixteen shots. These were grizzlies, two of which were cubs.
During the last few seconds of his life, after the grizzly receives a fatal wound, he sometimes fights in an amazingly effective and deadly manner. As an old bear-hunter once said, "the grizzly is likely to do a lot of execution after he is nominally dead." Hundreds of hunters have been wounded and scores of others killed by grizzlies which they were trying to kill or capture. Hundreds of others have escaped death or serious injury by extremely narrow margins.
A grizzly appears to have caused the death of the first white man to die within the bounds of Colorado. This happened on the plains in the eastern part of the State. Seeing the grizzly in the willows near camp, the man went out to kill him. The wounded grizzly knocked him down and mauled him so severely that he died.
In southern Colorado I saw a frightened hunter on horseback pursued by a mother grizzly. He was chasing her cubs, when she suddenly charged him.
The horse wheeled and ran. Although the hunter urged the horse to its utmost, the bear was almost upon them when his dogs rushed in and distracted her.
Hunters claim that if a man feign death when knocked down by a grizzly he is not likely to be injured. James Capen Adams appears to have saved himself a number of times by this method. I have not had occasion to try the experiment.
An old bear-hunter told me that he once saved himself from what seemed to be certain death, in a most unusual manner. A grizzly knocked him sprawling, then leaped upon him to chew him up. In falling, however, the hunter had grabbed up a stone. With this he struck the bear a smashing blow on the tip of his nose as the bear landed upon him. The bear backed off with a roar of pain. This gave the hunter opportunity to seize his rifle and fire a fatal shot.
Three or four men who have been severely bitten and shaken by grizzlies have testified that they felt no pain at the time from these injuries. I cannot account for this. Livingstone, the African explorer, also states that he felt no pain when a lion was chewing him.
I once witnessed a grizzly-roping in Montana that had rare fighting and adventure in it. Two cowboys pursued a grizzly nearly to camp, when several others came riding out with whirling ropes seeking fun. They roped the bear; but a horse was pulled off his feet and dragged, a cowboy was ditched into a bunch of cactus, another cowboy lost his saddle, the cinches giving way under the strain, and a horse struck in the flank had to be shot. Meantime the bear got away and stampeded the entire herd of cattle.
Bear stories have a fascination all their own. Here is one of five men who were hunting in northwestern Montana, a section of high and rugged mountain-peaks, snow-fields, and glaciers, well-nigh inaccessible, and wholly uninhabited save by wild animals. Two of the men went off to a distant glacier-basin for big game, separating and going on opposite sides of a ridge. One of them after a steep climb came upon a grizzly cub, so large as to appear full-grown except to the most careful observer. He killed the bear with three cartridges from his Mauser rifle, and then, leaning the rifle against a rock, stooped over to examine his prize. Suddenly he heard a fearsome cry and a swift rush.
Turning, he saw the mother bear coming for him and not more than sixty feet away.
Springing to his rifle, he put two steel-clad bullets into the grizzly, emptying his gun. With remarkable coolness he slipped in another cartridge and sent a third bullet into her. But Mauser bullets are small and an enraged grizzly is a hard thing to stop. The three bullets did not stop this mother bear, frantic at the sight of her dead cub. With one stroke of her paw she knocked the hunter into a gulch, eight feet below. Then she sprang down after him, caught him in her mouth, shook him as a dog might shake a doll, and dropped him. She caught him up again, his face between her tusks, shook him, and again dropped him. A third time she s.n.a.t.c.hed him up. But now the little Mauser bullets had done their work, and she fell dead across the hunter"s feet.
It was high time, for the man was in little better condition than the bear. His scalp and cheek and throat were torn open, there were five gaping wounds in his chest, his thigh bore an irregular tear two or three inches wide from which the flesh hung in ragged strips, and his left wrist was broken and the bones protruding through the twisted flesh. His companion, alarmed by the six shots, hurried to the hunter.
He bound up his wounds, set him on a horse, guided him for two hours across country without a trail, and got him to camp at nightfall. But to save the man"s life it was necessary to get him to the railroad in short order. He was put on a horse with a man on each side to support him, and for eleven hours the party climbed down the five miles through forest and jungle, cutting their way as they went. At dark, completely exhausted, they flagged a limited train. The hunter was hurried to a hospital and operated upon and his life saved.
The man with a gun is a specialist. He is looking for a particular thing in order to kill it. Generally the gun hampers full enjoyment of the wilderness. The hunter misses most of the beauty and the glory of the trail. If he stops to enjoy the pranks of other animals, or to notice the color of cloud or flower, he will miss his opportunity to secure his game. When at last he is within range of a bear, it may scent him and be off at any minute, so he must shoot at once. He learns but little of the character of the animal.
Trailing the grizzly without a gun is the very acme of hunting. The gunless hunter comes up close, but he lingers to watch the bear and perhaps her cubs. He sees them play. Often, too, he has the experience of seeing wilderness etiquette when other bears or animals come into the scene. The information that he gathers and his enjoyment excel those obtained by the man with a gun.
Roosevelt has said and shown that the hunter whose chief interest is in shooting has but little out of the hunt. Audubon did a little shooting for specimens. Wright had as many thrills with the camera as with the rifle. Adams was far happier and more useful with his live grizzlies than he was killing other grizzlies. Emerson McMillin was satisfied to hunt without either gun or camera. The words and sketches of Ernest Thompson Seton have given us much of the artistic side of the wilderness. Dr. Frank M. Chapman explored two continents for the facts of bird-lore and in addition to his books prepared the magnificent bird-groups in the American Museum of Natural History. Th.o.r.eau enjoyed life in the wilderness without a gun. But John Muir was the supreme wilderness hunter and wanderer. He never carried a gun. Usually he was in the wilds alone. He spent years in a grizzly bear country. But the wealth of nature-lore with which he enriched his books make him the Shakespeare of nature.
The man without a gun can enjoy every scene of nature along his way. He has time to turn aside for other animals, or to stop and watch any one of the countless unexpected wild-life exhibitions that are ever appearing. Then, too, he hears the many calls and sounds, the music of the wilds. The wild places, especially in grizzly bear land, are crowded with plants and with exhibitions of the manners and the customs of animals, and are rich in real nature stories being lived with all their charm and their dramatic changes.
Where Curiosity Wins
The grizzly bear has the most curiosity of any animal that I have watched. As curiosity arises from the desire to know, it appears that the superior mentality of the grizzly may be largely due to the alertness which curiosity sustains.
Although the grizzly has learned the extreme danger of exposing himself near man, yet, at times, all his vigilant senses are temporarily hypnotized by curiosity. On rare occasions it betrays him into trouble, or lands a cub in a trap. In old bears curiosity is accompanied with a keenness of observation and a caution that enable him to satisfy his desire for information without exposure to danger. Often it enables him to antic.i.p.ate a concealed danger--to penetrate the camouflage of something dangerous. Curiosity prevents oncoming events from being thrust on the curious. It is an effort to obtain advance information instead of taking things as they come.
In 1826 Drummond, the botanist, collected plants in the Rocky Mountains.
In stopping to examine, to gather, and to press them he was doing the unusual. He thus attracted the attention of numerous grizzlies, who even came close to watch him. They showed no inclination to attack. Bears are "chock-full of curiosity" and will sometimes forget to eat in trying to understand at once the new or the unusual.
Lewis and Clark tell of a bear on a sand-bar who showed interest in their boat as it pa.s.sed. He raised himself on hind feet and looked after them, and then plunged into the river and swam toward the boat. This novel outfit should have attracted the attention of any living thing, and a curious grizzly must have been almost overcome with wonder. Yet the explorers erroneously a.s.sumed that this intense curiosity and consequent attempt for closer inspection was evidence of ferocity.
During the first fifty years of the white man"s contact with the grizzly, the bear frequently came close to a man or a camp for a better look; most frontiersmen thought this near approach was ferocity in the bear. Often the bear was greeted with bullets, and in due time he learned to satisfy his curiosity by stealth instead of by direct approach. But inquisitive he still is.
[Ill.u.s.tration: JOHNNY]
In crossing the mountains in northern New Mexico I was overtaken by a Swede on his way to a lumber-camp. He carried a pack, and a part of it was an accordion. We made camp that night near the head of a gulch.
Across from us a treeless mountain rose a thousand feet.
After supper the Swede played on his accordion and was soon lost in music. Pausing in my note-making to enjoy his contented expression, I saw an old grizzly watching us from across the mountain. Standing upon a bowlder, he was looking over the tops of the spruce trees that thrust up out of the gulch. Through my field-gla.s.ses he appeared even more lost in wonder at the music than the enthusiastic, emotional player. When the refrain died away, the grizzly climbed down off the bowlder, and then, as another piece was begun, at once rose to remount, but instead stood with fore paws against the bowlder, listening. By and by he started up the mountain, pausing every few steps to turn and listen. He either stood broadside, his head tilted sideways, or raised himself on tiptoe, fascinated. A loud, lively, clashing close to one piece started him off on a gallop, but as soon as the music stopped the bear paused. He appeared puzzled and fidgeted about while the player sat silent, listening to my description of the bear"s movements. A soft and melodious piece was next played. The bear, as the first strain sounded on the evening air, seated himself on his haunches facing us, and thus remained until the piece was finished. Then he climbed higher up the mountain and, on reaching the sky-line, walked lingering along in the last rays of the sun, looking down on us now and then as though wanting more music.
For two or three hours I watched a number of water-ouzels in the St.
Vrain River. They often came within three or four feet of where I sat on the bank with my back against a large bowlder. To avoid frightening them, I sat motionless, not turning even my head for an hour or more at a time. I was enjoying their actions, when suddenly I caught the distinct odor of a bear. While still motionless and wondering further about this new interest, I heard the faint crack of a stick behind me.
Turning my head at this sound, I saw a grizzly raised on hind legs with fore paws resting on top of the bowlder against which I was leaning. He looked at me with intense interest, all caution forgotten. His curiosity absolutely dominated. But my slight movement had aroused him. In two seconds from the time I turned he was crashing off through the thicket and probably was condemning himself for being so curious.
One Sunday afternoon one of the men in a lumber-camp rigged up a canvas hammock from the remnants of an old tent and suspended it between two trees. A pet grizzly who belonged at the camp watched him with curious interest while he worked. She observed him with still greater interest as he stretched himself out in it and began reading. When the man deserted the hammock, she walked up to it, struck it, pushed it back and forth with fore paws, and then began rather awkwardly to climb into it.
She had almost succeeded, when her weight upon the edge caused it to tip over and spill her on the ground. She leaped back surprised, then walked round the hammock, eyeing it with great curiosity. But the second attempt at climbing into the hammock was successful, and she made a most comical and awkward sight stretched out in it flat upon her back.
I came upon a grizzly on the heights above the timber-line watching the progress of a forest fire. Squatted on his haunches like a dog, he was intently watching the fire-front below. A deep roar at one place, high leaping flames at another, a vast smoke-cloud at another caused him to turn toward each with rapt attention. He followed with eager eyes, also, the swiftly advancing cloud-shadows as they mysteriously rushed forward over ridge and valley. So intent was he that none of his keen senses warned him of my presence, though I stood near for two or three minutes, watching him. When I called he slowly turned his head. He stared at me in a half-dazed manner, then angrily showed his teeth. After another second he fled like a frightened rabbit.
The actions of a fisherman were being followed with the closest attention by a grizzly when I came along the opposite side of a narrow canon. The bear stood still for some minutes, all his faculties concentrated on the fisherman. Every cast of the fly was observed with the greatest interest. A dangling trout caused him much excitement.
Possibly the wind, touched with man-scent, finally warned him of danger.
Anyway, he suddenly came to his senses, roused himself, and ran off.
On one of my camping-trips into the mountains I carried a long yellow slicker. Wearing this one misty, half-snowy day, I was followed by a grizzly. Twice he evidently came close to me; although I did not see him, I scented him. When well upon a mountain during the afternoon, I crossed an open place in the woods where a breeze broke up the low-drifting clouds. For a moment I beheld a much interested grizzly near by. He stood and stared at me with all caution forgotten in his curiosity about the long yellow coat.
At dark I made camp at timber-line and forgot about the bear. The slicker was hung over a pole against a cliff to drain and dry. I went to sleep about eleven o"clock, after writing up my notes and watching my camp-fire. During the night the grizzly came boldly into camp, reared up, and slit the slicker. My shoes near by had not been noticed; the bacon and raisins swinging from a limb had not interested his keen nose.
He was interested only in that slicker.
This was a case where the grizzly"s curiosity might have got him into trouble. So intent was he on seeing this one thing that for hours he had forgotten food-hunting and followed me; and then in order to have a closer examination of it he must have waited near my camp two or three hours until I had lain down.
Another time, in the Yellowstone, while I was sleeping out, a big grizzly who had followed me all day came to give me closer inspection. I was awakened by his lightly clawing my bed. I opened my eyes and watched him for some seconds and lay perfectly still while he sniffed me over.
After several seconds of this he appeared to have satisfied his curiosity and walked quietly away beneath the stars.
As I was trying to flash information with a looking-gla.s.s from Mount Lincoln to a prospector down in the valley one day, a grizzly became attracted by the flashes and lay down to watch them circle and shimmer here and there. In the San Juan Mountains a prospector once lost a wheel from a rude cart which he was hauling up a steep, roadless slope. As the detached wheel went bounding down and across the bottom of the gulch, a grizzly hit an att.i.tude of attention and watched it. He became excited as it leaped and rushed up the opposite slope, and when it rolled over he approached cautiously to see what manner of thing it might be. A grizzly sat down on his haunches to watch the uncertain movements of an umbrella which had taken advantage of a wind-storm to desert a mountain-top artist. He observed the disheveled umbrella with the greatest enjoyment as it danced across the moorland, and was particularly interested when a whirl sent it high into the air.