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American Big Game in Its Haunts: The Book of the Boone and Crockett Club

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Title: American Big Game in Its Haunts: The Book of the Boone and Crockett Club

Editor: George Bird Grinnell


        
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                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN BIG GAME IN ITS HAUNTS: THE BOOK OF THE BOONE AND CROCKETT CLUB ***

American Big Game in Its Haunts

The Book of the Boone and Crockett Club

EDITOR

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

1904





[Illustration: THEODORE ROOSEVELT
Founder of the Boone and Crockett Club]





Contents


Theodore Roosevelt

Wilderness Reserves
  Theodore Roosevelt.

The Zoology of North American Big Game
  Arthur Erwin Brown.

Big Game Shooting in Alaska:

  I.   Bear Hunting on Kadiak Island
  II.  Bear Hunting on the Alaska Peninsula
  III. My Big Bear of Shuyak
  IV.  The White Sheep of Kenai Peninsula.
  V.   Hunting the Giant Moose
       James H. Kidder.

The Kadiak Bear and his Home
  W. Lord Smith.

The Mountain Sheep and its Range
  George Bird Grinnell.

Preservation of the Wild Animals of North America
  Henry Fairfield Osborn.

Distribution of the Moose
  Madison Grant.

The Creating of Game Refuges
  Alden Sampson.

Temiskaming Moose
  Paul J. Dashiell.

Two Trophies from India
  John H. Prentice.






Big-Game Refuges

Forest Reserves of North America




Appendix


Forest Reserves as Game Preserves
  E.W. Nelson.

Constitution of the Boone and Crockett Club

Rules of the Committee on Admission

Former Officers of the Boone and Crockett Club

Officers of the Boone and Crockett Club

List of Members




List of Illustrations


Theodore Roosevelt

President Roosevelt and Major Pitcher

Tourists and Bears

"Oom John"

Prongbucks

Mountain Sheep

Deer on the Parade Ground

Whiskey Jacks

Wapiti in Deep Snow

Old Ephraim

Mountain Sheep at Close Quarters

Magpies

A Silhouette of Blacktail

Black Bears at Hotel Garbage Heap

Chambermaid and Bear

Cook and Bear

Bull Bison

Trophies from Alaska

Loaded Baidarka--Barabara--Base of Supplies, Alaska Peninsula

The Hunter and his Home

Baidarka

Heads of Dall's Sheep

My Best Head

St. Paul, Kadiak Island

Sunset in English Bay, Kadiak

Sitkalidak Island from Kadiak

A Kadiak Eagle

Bear Paths, Kadiak Island

Bear Paths, Kadiak Island

_Merycodus osborni_ Matthew

Yearling Moose

Maine Moose; about 1890

Moose Killed 1892, with Unusual Development of Brow Antlers

Alaska Moose Head, Showing Unusual Development of Antlers

"Bierstadt" Head, Killed 1880

Probably Largest Known Alaska Moose Head

Temiskaming Moose

Temiskaming Moose

Temiskaming Moose

Temiskaming Moose

A Kahrigur Tiger

Indian Leopard

The New Buffalo Herd in the Yellowstone Park

A Bit of Sheep Country

Mountain Sheep at Rest

Mule Deer at Fort Yellowstone

NOTE.--The four last illustrations are from photographs taken by Major
John Pitcher, Superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park,
especially for this volume.




Preface


Although the Boone and Crockett Club has not appeared largely in the
public eye during recent years, its activities have not ceased. The
discovery of gold in Alaska, and the extraordinary rush of population to
that northern territory had the usual effect on the wild life there, and
proved very destructive to the natives and to the large mammals. A few
years ago it became evident that the Kadiak bear and certain newly
discovered forms of wild sheep and caribou were being destroyed by
wholesale, and were actually threatened with extermination, and through
the efforts of the Club, strongly backed by the Biological Survey of the
Department of Agriculture, a bill was passed regulating the taking of
Alaska large game, and especially the exportation of heads, horns, and
hides. The bill promises to afford sufficient protection to some of
these rare boreal forms, though for others it perhaps comes too late.
The enforcement of the law is in charge of the Treasury Department, and
permits for shooting and the export of trophies are issued by the Chief
of the Biological Survey.

Although a local affair, yet of interest to the whole country, is the
remarkable success of the New York Zoological Park, controlled and
managed by the New York Zoological Society, brought into existence
largely through the efforts of Madison Grant, the present secretary of
the Club. The Society has also recently taken over the care of the New
York Aquarium. The Society is in a most flourishing condition, and
through its extensive collections exerts an important educational
influence in a field in which popular interest is constantly growing.

Under the administration of President Roosevelt, the good work of
national forest preservation continues, and the time appears not far
distant when vast areas of the hitherto uncultivated West will prove
added sources of wealth to our country.

The Club has for some time given much thoughtful attention to the
subject of game refuges--that is to say, areas where game shall be
absolutely free from interference or molestation, as it is to-day in the
Yellowstone Park--to be situated within the forest reserves; and as is
elsewhere shown, it has investigated a number of the forest reserves in
order to learn something of their suitability for game refuges. It
appears certain that only by means of such refuges can some forms of our
large mammals be preserved from extinction. The first step to be taken
to bring about the establishment of these safe breeding grounds is to
secure legislation transferring the Bureau of Forestry from the Land
Office to the Department of Agriculture. After this shall have been
accomplished, the question of establishing such game refuges may
properly come before the officials of the Government for action.

Among the notable articles in the present volume, one of the most
important is Mr. Roosevelt's account of his visit to the Yellowstone
National Park in April, 1903. The Park is an object lesson, showing very
clearly what complete game protection will do to perpetuate species, and
Mr. Roosevelt's account of what may be seen there is so convincing that
all who read it, and appreciate the importance of preserving our large
mammals, must become advocates of the forest reserve game refuge system.

Quite as interesting, in a different way, is Mr. Brown's contribution
to the definition and the history of our larger North American
mammals. To characterize these creatures in language "understanded of
the people" is not easy, but Mr. Brown has made clear the zoological
affinities of the species, and has pointed out their probable origin.

This is the fourth of the Boone and Crockett Club's books, and the first
to be signed by a single member of the editorial committee, one name
which usually appears on the title page having been omitted for obvious
reasons. The preceding volume--Trail and Camp Fire--was published in
1897.

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL.

NEW YORK, April 2, 1904.




American Big Game in Its Haunts

[Illustration: Theodore Roosevelt]

[Illustration: President Roosevelt and Major Pitcher]


FOUNDER OF THE BOONE AND CROCKETT CLUB.

It was at a dinner given to a few friends, who were also big-game
hunters, at his New York house, in December, 1887, that Theodore
Roosevelt first suggested the formation of the Boone and Crockett
Club. The association was to be made up of men using the rifle in
big-game hunting, who should meet from time to time to discuss subjects
of interest to hunters. The idea was received with enthusiasm, and the
purposes and plans of the club were outlined at this dinner.

Mr. Roosevelt was then eight years out of college, and had already made
a local name for himself. Soon after graduation he had begun to display
that energy which is now so well known; he had entered the political
field, and been elected member of the New York Legislature, where he
served from 1882 to 1884. His honesty and courage made his term of
service one long battle, in which he fought with equal zeal the unworthy
measures championed by his own and the opposing political party. In 1886
he had been an unsuccessful candidate for Mayor of New York, being
defeated by Abram S. Hewitt.

Up to the time of the formation of the Boone and Crockett Club, the
political affairs with which Mr. Roosevelt had concerned himself had
been of local importance, but none the less in the line of training for
more important work; but his activities were soon to have a wider range.

In 1889 the President of the United States appointed him member of the
Civil Service Commission, where he served until 1895. In 1895 he was
appointed one of the Board of Police Commissioners of New York City, and
became President of the Board, serving here until 1897. In 1897 he was
appointed Assistant Secretary of the Navy, and served for about a year,
resigning in 1898 to raise the First United States Volunteer
Cavalry. The service done by the regiment--popularly called Roosevelt's
Rough Riders--is sufficiently well known, and Mr. Roosevelt was promoted
to a Colonelcy for conspicuous gallantry at the battle of Las
Guasimas. At the close of the war with Spain, Mr. Roosevelt became
candidate for Governor of New York. He was elected, and served until
December 31, 1900. In that year he was elected Vice-President of the
United States on the ticket with Mr. McKinley, and on the death of
Mr. McKinley, succeeded to the Presidential chair.

Of the Presidents of the United States not a few have been sportsmen,
and sportsmen of the best type. The love of Washington for gun and dog,
his interest in fisheries, and especially his fondness for horse and
hound, in the chase of the red fox, have furnished the theme for many a
writer; and recently Mr. Cleveland and Mr. Harrison have been more or
less celebrated in the newspapers, Mr. Harrison as a gunner, and Mr.
Cleveland for his angling, as well as his duck shooting proclivities.

It is not too much to say, however, that the chair of the chief
magistrate has never been occupied by a sportsman whose range of
interests was so wide, and so actively manifested, as in the case of
Mr. Roosevelt. It is true that Mr. Harrison, Mr. Cleveland, and
Mr. McKinley did much in the way of setting aside forest reservations,
but chiefly from economic motives; because they believed that the
forests should be preserved, both for the timber that they might yield,
if wisely exploited, and for their value as storage reservoirs for the
waters of our rivers.

The view taken by Mr. Roosevelt is quite different. To him the
economics of the case appeal with the same force that they might have
for any hard-headed, common sense business American; but beyond this,
and perhaps, if the secrets of his heart were known, more than this,
Mr. Roosevelt is influenced by a love of nature, which, though
considered sentimental by some, is, in fact, nothing more than a
far-sightedness, which looks toward the health, happiness, and general
well-being of the American race for the future.

As a boy Mr. Roosevelt was fortunate in having a strong love for nature
and for outdoor life, and, as in the case of so many boys, this love
took the form of an interest in birds, which found its outlet in
studying and collecting them. He published, in 1877, a list of the
summer birds of the Adirondacks, in Franklin county, New York, and also
did more or less collecting of birds on Long Island. The result of all
this was the acquiring of some knowledge of the birds of eastern North
America, and, what was far more important, a knowledge of how to
observe, and an appreciation of the fact that observations, to be of any
scientific value, must be definite and precise.

In the many hunting tales that we have had from his pen in recent years,
it is seen that these two pieces of most important instruction acquired
by the boy have always been remembered, and for this reason his books of
hunting and adventure have a real value--a worth not shared by many of
those published on similar subjects. His hunting adventures have not
been mere pleasure excursions. They have been of service to science. On
one of his hunts, perhaps his earliest trip after white goats, he
secured a second specimen of a certain tiny shrew, of which, up to that
time, only the type was known. Much more recently, during a declared
hunting trip in Colorado, he collected the best series of skins of the
American panther, with the measurements taken in the flesh, that has
ever been gathered from one locality by a single individual.

Mr. Roosevelt's hunting experiences have been so wide as to have covered
almost every species of North American big game found within the
temperate zone. Except such Arctic forms as the white and the Alaska
bears, and the muskox, there is, perhaps, no species of North American
game that he has not killed; and his chapter on the mountain sheep, in
his book, "Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail," is confessedly the best
published account of that species.

During the years that Mr. Roosevelt was actually engaged in the cattle
business in North Dakota, his everyday life led him constantly to the
haunts of big game, and, almost in spite of himself, gave him constant
hunting opportunities. Besides that, during dull seasons of the year,
he made trips to more or less distant localities in search of the
species of big game not found immediately about his ranch. His mode of
hunting and of traveling was quite different from that now in vogue
among big-game hunters. His knowledge of the West was early enough to
touch upon the time when each man was as good as his neighbor, and the
mere fact that a man was paid wages to perform certain acts for you did
not in any degree lower his position in the world, nor elevate yours.
In those days, if one started out with a companion, hired or otherwise,
to go to a certain place, or to do a certain piece of work, each man was
expected to perform his share of the labor.

This fact Mr. Roosevelt recognized as soon as he went West, and, acting
upon it, he made for himself a position as a man, and not as a master,
which he has never lost; and it is precisely this democratic spirit
which to-day makes him perhaps the most popular man in the United States
at large.

Starting off, then, on some trip of several hundred miles, with a
companion who might be guide, helper, cook, packer, or what
not--sometimes efficient, and the best companion that could be desired,
at others, perhaps, hopelessly lazy and worthless, and even with a stock
of liquor cached somewhere in the packs--Mr. Roosevelt helped to pack
the horses, to bring the wood, to carry the water, to cook the food, to
wrangle the stock, and generally to do the work of the camp, or of the
trail, so long as any of it remained undone. His energy was
indefatigable, and usually he infected his companion with his own
enthusiasm and industry, though at times he might have with him a man
whom nothing could move. It is largely to this energy and this
determination that he owes the good fortune that has usually attended
his hunting trips.

As the years have gone on, fortunes have changed; and as duties of one
kind and another have more and more pressed upon him, Mr. Roosevelt has
done less and less hunting; yet his love for outdoor life is as keen as
ever, and as Vice-President of the United States, he made his
well-remembered trip to Colorado after mountain lions, while more
recently he hunted black bears in the Mississippi Valley, and still more
lately killed a wild boar in the Austin Corbin park in New Hampshire.

Mr. Roosevelt's accession to the Presidential chair has been a great
thing for good sportsmanship in this country. Measures pertaining to
game and forest protection, and matters of sport generally, always have
had, and always will have, his cordial approval and co-operation. He is
heartily in favor of the forest reserves, and of the project for
establishing, within these reserves, game refuges, where no hunting
whatever shall be permitted. Aside from his love for nature, and his
wish to have certain limited areas remain in their natural condition,
absolutely untouched by the ax of the lumberman, and unimproved by the
work of the forester, is that broader sentiment in behalf of humanity in
the United States, which has led him to declare that such refuges should
be established for the benefit of the man of moderate means and the poor
man, whose opportunities to hunt and to see game are few and far
between. In a public speech he has said, in substance, that the rich and
the well-to-do could take care of themselves, buying land, fencing it,
and establishing parks and preserves of their own, where they might look
upon and take pleasure in their own game, but that such a course was not
within the power of the poor man, and that therefore the Government
might fitly intervene and establish refuges, such as indicated, for the
benefit and the pleasure of the whole people.

In April, 1903, the President made a trip to the Yellowstone Park, and
there had an opportunity to see wild game in such a forest refuge,
living free and without fear of molestation. Long before this
Mr. Roosevelt had expressed his approval of the plan, but his own eyes
had never before seen precisely the results accomplished by such a
refuge. In 1903 he was able to contrast conditions in the Yellowstone
Park with those of former years when he had passed through it and had
hunted on its borders, and what he saw then more than ever confirmed his
previous conclusions.

Although politics have taken up a large share of Mr. Roosevelt's life,
they represent only one of his many sides. He has won fame as a
historical writer by such books as "The Winning of the West," "Life of
Gouverneur Morris," "Life of Thomas Hart Benton," "The Naval War of
1812," "History of New York," "American Ideals and Other Essays," and
"Life of Cromwell."  Besides these, he has written "The Strenuous Life,"
and in somewhat lighter vein, his "Wilderness Hunter," "Hunting Trips of
a Ranchman," "Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail," and "The Rough Riders"
deal with sport, phases of nature and life in the wild country. For many
years he was on the editorial committee of the Boone and Crockett Club,
and edited its publications, "American Big Game Hunting," "Hunting in
Many Lands," and "Trail and Camp Fire."

Mr. Roosevelt was the first president of the Boone and Crockett Club,
and continues actively interested in its work. He was succeeded in the
presidency of the Club by the late Gen. B.H. Bristow.

[Illustration: Tourists and Bears]




Wilderness Reserves


The practical common sense of the American people has been in no way
made more evident during the last few years than by the creation and use
of a series of large land reserves--situated for the most part on the
great plains and among the mountains of the West--intended to keep the
forests from destruction, and therefore to conserve the water
supply. These reserves are created purely for economic purposes. The
semi-arid regions can only support a reasonable population under
conditions of the strictest economy and wisdom in the use of the water
supply, and in addition to their other economic uses the forests are
indispensably necessary for the preservation of the water supply and for
rendering possible its useful distribution throughout the proper
seasons. In addition, however, to the economic use of the wilderness by
preserving it for such purposes where it is unsuited for agricultural
uses, it is wise here and there to keep selected portions of it--of
course only those portions unfit for settlement--in a state of nature,
not merely for the sake of preserving the forests and the water, but for
the sake of preserving all its beauties and wonders unspoiled by greedy
and shortsighted vandalism. These beauties and wonders include animate
as well as inanimate objects. The wild creatures of the wilderness add
to it by their presence a charm which it can acquire in no other way. On
every ground it is well for our nation to preserve, not only for the
sake of this generation, but above all for the sake of those who come
after us, representatives of the stately and beautiful haunters of the
wilds which were once found throughout our great forests, over the vast
lonely plains, and on the high mountain ranges, but which are now on the
point of vanishing save where they are protected in natural breeding
grounds and nurseries. The work of preservation must be carried on in
such a way as to make it evident that we are working in the interest of
the people as a whole, not in the interest of any particular class; and
that the people benefited beyond all others are those who dwell nearest
to the regions in which the reserves are placed. The movement for the
preservation by the nation of sections of the wilderness as national
playgrounds is essentially a democratic movement in the interest of all
our people.

[Illustration: "OOM JOHN."]

On April 8, 1903, John Burroughs and I reached the Yellowstone Park and
were met by Major John Pitcher of the Regular Army, the Superintendent
of the Park. The Major and I forthwith took horses; he telling me that
he could show me a good deal of game while riding up to his house at the
Mammoth Hot Springs. Hardly had we left the little town of Gardiner and
gotten within the limits of the Park before we saw prong-buck. There
was a band of at least a hundred feeding some distance from the road. We
rode leisurely toward them. They were tame compared to their kindred in
unprotected places; that is, it was easy to ride within fair rifle range
of them; but they were not familiar in the sense that we afterwords
found the bighorn and the deer to be familiar. During the two hours
following my entry into the Park we rode around the plains and lower
slopes of the foothills in the neighborhood of the mouth of the Gardiner
and we saw several hundred--probably a thousand all told--of these
antelope. Major Pitcher informed me that all the prong-horns in the
Park wintered in this neighborhood. Toward the end of April or the
first of May they migrate back to their summering homes in the open
valleys along the Yellowstone and in the plains south of the Golden
Gate. While migrating they go over the mountains and through forests if
occasion demands. Although there are plenty of coyotes in the Park there
are no big wolves, and save for very infrequent poachers the only enemy
of the antelope, as indeed the only enemy of all the game, is the
cougar.

Cougars, known in the Park as elsewhere through the West as "mountain
lions," are plentiful, having increased in numbers of recent years.
Except in the neighborhood of the Gardiner River, that is within a few
miles of Mammoth Hot Springs, I found them feeding on elk, which in the
Park far outnumber all other game put together, being so numerous that
the ravages of the cougars are of no real damage to the herds. But in
the neighborhood of the Mammoth Hot Springs the cougars are noxious
because of the antelope, mountain sheep and deer which they kill; and
the Superintendent has imported some hounds with which to hunt
them. These hounds are managed by Buffalo Jones, a famous old plainsman,
who is now in the Park taking care of the buffalo. On this first day of
my visit to the Park I came across the carcasses of a deer and of an
antelope which the cougars had killed. On the great plains cougars
rarely get antelope, but here the country is broken so that the big cats
can make their stalks under favorable circumstances. To deer and
mountain sheep the cougar is a most dangerous enemy--much more so than
the wolf.

[Illustration: Prongbucks]

The antelope we saw were usually in bands of from twenty to one hundred
and fifty, and they traveled strung out almost in single file, though
those in the rear would sometimes bunch up. I did not try to stalk them,
but got as near them as I could on horseback. The closest approach I was
able to make was to within about eighty yards on two which were by
themselves--I think a doe and a last year's fawn. As I was riding up to
them, although they looked suspiciously at me, one actually lay
down. When I was passing them at about eighty yards distance the big one
became nervous, gave a sudden jump, and away the two went at full speed.

Why the prone bucks were so comparatively shy I do not know, for right
on the ground with them we came upon deer, and, in the immediate
neighborhood, mountain sheep, which were absurdly tame. The mountain
sheep were nineteen in number, for the most part does and yearlings with
a couple of three-year-old rams, but not a single big fellow--for the
big fellows at this season are off by themselves, singly or in little
bunches, high up in the mountains. The band I saw was tame to a degree
matched by but few domestic animals.

They were feeding on the brink of a steep washout at the upper edge of
one of the benches on the mountain side just below where the abrupt
slope began. They were alongside a little gully with sheer walls. I rode
my horse to within forty yards of them, one of them occasionally looking
up and at once continuing to feed. Then they moved slowly off and
leisurely crossed the gully to the other side. I dismounted, walked
around the head of the gully, and moving cautiously, but in plain sight,
came closer and closer until I was within twenty yards, where I sat down
on a stone and spent certainly twenty minutes looking at them. They
paid hardly any attention whatever to my presence--certainly no more
than well-treated domestic creatures would pay. One of the rams rose on
his hind legs, leaning his fore-hoofs against a little pine tree, and
browsed the ends of the budding branches. The others grazed on the short
grass and herbage or lay down and rested--two of the yearlings several
times playfully butting at one another. Now and then one would glance in
my direction without the slightest sign of fear--barely even of
curiosity. I have no question whatever but that with a little patience
this particular band could be made to feed out of a man's hand. Major
Pitcher intends during the coming winter to feed them alfalfa--for game
animals of several kinds have become so plentiful in the neighborhood of
the Hot Springs, and the Major has grown so interested in them, that he
wishes to do something toward feeding them during the severe winter.
After I had looked at the sheep to my heart's content, I walked back to
my horse, my departure arousing as little interest as my advent.

[Illustration: MOUNTAIN SHEEP.]

Soon after leaving them we began to come across black-tail deer, singly,
in twos and threes, and in small bunches of a dozen or so. They were
almost as tame as the mountain sheep, but not quite. That is, they
always looked alertly at me, and though if I stayed still they would
graze, they kept a watch over my movements and usually moved slowly off
when I got within less than forty yards of them. Up to that distance,
whether on foot or on horseback, they paid but little heed to me, and on
several occasions they allowed me to come much closer. Like the bighorn,
the black-tails at this time were grazing, not browsing; but I
occasionally saw them nibble some willow buds. During the winter they
had been browsing. As we got close to the Hot Springs we came across
several white-tail in an open, marshy meadow.

They were not quite as tame as the black-tail, although without any
difficulty I walked up to within fifty yards of them. Handsome though
the black-tail is, the white-tail is the most beautiful of all deer when
in motion, because of the springy, bounding grace of its trot and
canter, and the way it carries its head and white flag aloft.

Before reaching the Mammoth Hot Springs we also saw a number of ducks in
the little pools and on the Gardiner. Some of them were rather shy.
Others--probably those which, as Major Pitcher informed me, had spent
the winter there--were as tame as barnyard fowls.

[Illustration: DEER ON THE PARADE GROUND.]

Just before reaching the post the Major took me into the big field where
Buffalo Jones had some Texas and Flat Head Lake buffalo--bulls and
cows--which he was tending with solicitous care. The original stock of
buffalo in the Park have now been reduced to fifteen or twenty
individuals, and the intention is to try to mix them with the score of
buffalo which have been purchased out of the Flat Head Lake and Texas
Panhandle herds. The buffalo were put within a wire fence, which, when
it was built, was found to have included both black-tail and white-tail
deer. A bull elk was also put in with them at one time--he having met
with some accident which made the Major and Buffalo Jones bring him in
to doctor him. When he recovered his health he became very cross. Not
only would he attack men, but also buffalo, even the old and surly
master bull, thumping them savagely with his antlers if they did
anything to which he objected. When I reached the post and dismounted
at the Major's house, I supposed my experiences with wild beasts for the
day were ended; but this was an error. The quarters of the officers and
men and the various hotel buildings, stables, residences of the civilian
officials, etc., almost completely surround the big parade ground at the
post, near the middle of which stands the flag-pole, while the gun used
for morning and evening salutes is well off to one side. There are large
gaps between some of the buildings, and Major Pitcher informed me that
throughout the winter he had been leaving alfalfa on the parade grounds,
and that numbers of black-tail deer had been in the habit of visiting it
every day, sometimes as many as seventy being on the parade ground at
once. As springtime came on the numbers diminished. However, in
mid-afternoon, while I was writing in my room in Major Pitcher's house,
on looking out of the window I saw five deer on the parade ground. They
were as tame as so many Alderney cows, and when I walked out I got up to
within twenty yards of them without any difficulty. It was most amusing
to see them as the time approached for the sunset gun to be fired. The
notes of the trumpeter attracted their attention at once. They all
looked at him eagerly. One then resumed feeding, and paid no attention
whatever either to the bugle, the gun or the flag. The other four,
however, watched the preparations for firing the gun with an intent
gaze, and at the sound of the report gave two or three jumps; then
instantly wheeling, looked up at the flag as it came down. This they
seemed to regard as something rather more suspicious than the gun, and
they remained very much on the alert until the ceremony was over. Once
it was finished, they resumed feeding as if nothing had happened. Before
it was dark they trotted away from the parade ground back to the
mountains.

The next day we rode off to the Yellowstone River, camping some miles
below Cottonwood Creek. It was a very pleasant camp. Major Pitcher, an
old friend, had a first-class pack train, so that we were as comfortable
as possible, and on such a trip there could be no pleasanter or more
interesting companion than John Burroughs--"Oom John," as we soon grew
to call him. Where our tents were pitched the bottom of the valley was
narrow, the mountains rising steep and cliff-broken on either
side. There were quite a number of black-tail in the valley, which were
tame and unsuspicious, although not nearly as much so as those in the
immediate neighborhood of the Mammoth Hot Springs. One mid-afternoon
three of them swam across the river a hundred yards above our camp. But
the characteristic animals of the region were the elk--the wapiti. They
were certainly more numerous than when I was last through the Park
twelve years before.

[Illustration: WHISKEY JACKS.]

In the summer the elk spread all over the interior of the Park. As
winter approaches they divide, some going north and others south. The
southern bands, which, at a guess, may possibly include ten thousand
individuals, winter out of the Park, for the most part in Jackson's
Hole--though of course here and there within the limits of the Park a
few elk may spend both winter and summer in an unusually favorable
location. It was the members of the northern band that I met. During
the winter time they are very stationary, each band staying within a
very few miles of the same place, and from their size and the open
nature of their habitat it is almost as easy to count them as if they
were cattle. From a spur of Bison Peak one day, Major Pitcher, the guide
Elwood Hofer, John Burroughs and I spent about four hours with the
glasses counting and estimating the different herds within sight. After
most careful work and cautious reduction of estimates in each case to
the minimum the truth would permit, we reckoned three thousand head of
elk, all lying or feeding and all in sight at the same time. An estimate
of some fifteen thousand for the number of elk in these northern bands
cannot be far wrong. These bands do not go out of the Park at all, but
winter just within its northern boundary. At the time when we saw them,
the snow had vanished from the bottom of the valleys and the lower
slopes of the mountains, but grew into continuous sheets further up
their sides. The elk were for the most part found up on the snow slopes,
occasionally singly or in small gangs--more often in bands of from fifty
to a couple of hundred. The larger bulls were highest up the mountains
and generally in small troops by themselves, although occasionally one
or two would be found associating with a big herd of cows, yearlings,
and two-year-olds. Many of the bulls had shed their antlers; many had
not. During the winter the elk had evidently done much browsing, but at
this time they were grazing almost exclusively, and seemed by preference
to seek out the patches of old grass which were last left bare by the
retreating snow. The bands moved about very little, and if one were
seen one day it was generally possible to find it within a few hundred
yards of the same spot the next day, and certainly not more than a mile
or two off. There were severe frosts at night, and occasionally light
flurries of snow; but the hardy beasts evidently cared nothing for any
but heavy storms, and seemed to prefer to lie in the snow rather than
upon the open ground. They fed at irregular hours throughout the day,
just like cattle; one band might be lying down while another was
feeding. While traveling they usually went almost in single
file. Evidently the winter had weakened them, and they were not in
condition for running; for on the one or two occasions when I wanted to
see them close up I ran right into them on horseback, both on level
plains and going up hill along the sides of rather steep mountains. One
band in particular I practically rounded up for John Burroughs--finally
getting them to stand in a huddle while he and I sat on our horses less
than fifty yards off. After they had run a little distance they opened
their mouths wide and showed evident signs of distress.

[Illustration: WAPITI IN DEEP SNOW.]

We came across a good many carcasses. Two, a bull and a cow, had died
from scab. Over half the remainder had evidently perished from cold or
starvation. The others, including a bull, three cows and a score of
yearlings, had been killed by cougars. In the Park the cougar is at
present their only animal foe. The cougars were preying on nothing but
elk in the Yellowstone Valley, and kept hanging about the neighborhood
of the big bands. Evidently they usually selected some outlying
yearling, stalked it as it lay or as it fed, and seized it by the head
and throat. The bull which they killed was in a little open valley by
himself, many miles from any other elk. The cougar which killed it,
judging from its tracks, was a very large male. As the elk were
evidently rather too numerous for the feed, I do not think the cougars
were doing any damage.

[Illustration: OLD EPHRAIM.]

Coyotes are plentiful, but the elk evidently have no dread of them. One
day I crawled up to within fifty yards of a band of elk lying down. A
coyote was walking about among them, and beyond an occasional look they
paid no heed to him. He did not venture to go within fifteen or twenty
paces of any one of them. In fact, except the cougar, I saw but one
living thing attempt to molest the elk. This was a golden eagle. We saw
several of these great birds. On one occasion we had ridden out to the
foot of a great sloping mountain side, dotted over with bands and
strings of elk amounting in the aggregate probably to a thousand
head. Most of the bands were above the snow line--some appearing away
back toward the ridge crests, and looking as small as mice. There was
one band well below the snow line, and toward this we rode. While the
elk were not shy or wary, in the sense that a hunter would use the
words, they were by no means as familiar as the deer; and this
particular band of elk, some twenty or thirty in all, watched us with
interest as we approached. When we were still half a mile off they
suddenly started to run toward us, evidently frightened by something.
They ran quartering, and when about four hundred yards away we saw that
an eagle was after them. Soon it swooped, and a yearling in the rear,
weakly, and probably frightened by the swoop, turned a complete
somersault, and when it recovered its feet, stood still. The great bird
followed the rest of the band across a little ridge, beyond which they
disappeared. Then it returned, soaring high in the heavens, and after
two or three wide circles, swooped down at the solitary yearling, its
legs hanging down. We halted at two hundred yards to see the end. But
the eagle could not quite make up its mind to attack. Twice it hovered
within a foot or two of the yearling's head--again flew off and again
returned. Finally the yearling trotted off after the rest of the band,
and the eagle returned to the upper air. Later we found the carcass of a
yearling, with two eagles, not to mention ravens and magpies, feeding on
it; but I could not tell whether they had themselves killed the yearling
or not.

Here and there in the region where the elk were abundant we came upon
horses which for some reason had been left out through the winter. They
were much wilder than the elk. Evidently the Yellowstone Park is a
natural nursery and breeding ground of the elk, which here, as said
above, far outnumber all the other game put together. In the winter, if
they cannot get to open water, they eat snow; but in several places
where there had been springs which kept open all winter, we could see by
the tracks they had been regularly used by bands of elk. The men working
at the new road along the face of the cliffs beside the Yellowstone
River near Tower Falls informed me that in October enormous droves of
elk coming from the interior of the Park and traveling northward to the
lower lands had crossed the Yellowstone just above Tower Falls. Judging
by their description the elk had crossed by thousands in an
uninterrupted stream, the passage taking many hours. In fact nowadays
these Yellowstone elk are, with the exception of the Arctic caribou, the
only American game which at times travel in immense droves like the
buffalo of the old days.

A couple of days after leaving Cottonwood Creek--where we had spent
several days--we camped at the Yellowstone Canon below Tower Falls. Here
we saw a second band of mountain sheep, numbering only eight--none of
them old rams. We were camped on the west side of the canon; the sheep
had their abode on the opposite side, where they had spent the
winter. It has recently been customary among some authorities,
especially the English hunters and naturalists who have written of the
Asiatic sheep, to speak as if sheep were naturally creatures of the
plains rather than mountain climbers. I know nothing of old world sheep,
but the Rocky Mountain bighorn is to the full as characteristic a
mountain animal, in every sense of the word, as the chamois, and, I
think, as the ibex. These sheep were well known to the road builders,
who had spent the winter in the locality. They told me they never went
back on the plains, but throughout the winter had spent their days and
nights on the top of the cliff and along its face. This cliff was an
alternation of sheer precipices and very steep inclines. When coated
with ice it would be difficult to imagine an uglier bit of climbing; but
throughout the winter, and even in the wildest storms, the sheep had
habitually gone down it to drink at the water below. When we first saw
them they were lying sunning themselves on the edge of the canyon, where
the rolling grassy country behind it broke off into the sheer
descent. It was mid-afternoon and they were under some pines. After a
while they got up and began to graze, and soon hopped unconcernedly down
the side of the cliff until they were half way to the bottom. They then
grazed along the sides, and spent some time licking at a place where
there was evidently a mineral deposit. Before dark they all lay down
again on a steeply inclined jutting spur midway between the top and
bottom of the canyon.

[Illustration: MOUNTAIN SHEEP AT CLOSE QUARTERS.]

Next morning I thought I would like to see them close up, so I walked
down three or four miles below where the canyon ended, crossed the
stream, and came up the other side until I got on what was literally the
stamping ground of the sheep. Their tracks showed that they had spent
their time for many weeks, and probably for all the winter, within a
very narrow radius. For perhaps a mile and a half, or two miles at the
very outside, they had wandered to and fro on the summit of the canyon,
making what was almost a well-beaten path; always very near and usually
on the edge of the cliff, and hardly ever going more than a few yards
back into the grassy plain-and-hill country. Their tracks and dung
covered the ground. They had also evidently descended into the depths of
the canon wherever there was the slightest break or even lowering in the
upper line of basalt cliffs. Although mountain sheep often browse in
winter, I saw but few traces of browsing here; probably on the sheer
cliff side they always got some grazing. When I spied the band they
were lying not far from the spot in which they had lain the day before,
and in the same position on the brink of the canon. They saw me and
watched me with interest when I was two hundred yards off, but they let
me get up within forty yards and sit down on a large stone to look at
them, without running off. Most of them were lying down, but a couple
were feeding steadily throughout the time I watched them. Suddenly one
took the alarm and dashed straight over the cliff, the others all
following at once. I ran after them to the edge in time to see the last
yearling drop off the edge of the basalt cliff and stop short on the
sheer slope below, while the stones dislodged by his hoofs rattled down
the canon. They all looked up at me with great interest and then
strolled off to the edge of a jutting spur and lay down almost directly
underneath me and some fifty yards off. That evening on my return to
camp we watched the band make its way right down to the river bed, going
over places where it did not seem possible a four-footed creature could
pass. They halted to graze here and there, and down the worst places
they went very fast with great bounds. It was a marvelous exhibition of
climbing.

After we had finished this horseback trip we went on sleds and skis to
the upper Geyser Basin and the Falls of the Yellowstone. Although it was
the third week in April, the snow was still several feet deep, and only
thoroughly trained snow horses could have taken the sleighs along, while
around the Yellowstone Falls it was possible to move only on
snowshoes. There was very little life in those woods. We saw an
occasional squirrel, rabbit or marten; and in the open meadows around
the hot waters there were geese and ducks, and now and then a
coyote. Around camp Clark's crows and Stellar's jays, and occasionally
magpies came to pick at the refuse; and of course they were accompanied
by the whiskey acks with their usual astounding familiarity. At Norris
Geyser Basin there was a perfect chorus of bird music from robins,
purple finches, uncos and mountain bluebirds. In the woods there were
mountain chickadees and nuthatches of various kinds, together with an
occasional woodpecker. In the northern country we had come across a very
few blue grouse and ruffed grouse, both as tame as possible. We had seen
a pigmy owl no larger than a robin sitting on top of a pine in broad
daylight, and uttering at short intervals a queer un-owllike cry.

[Illustration: MAGPIES.]

The birds that interested us most were the solitaires, and especially
the dippers or water-ousels. We were fortunate enough to hear the
solitaires sing not only when perched on trees, but on the wing, soaring
over a great canon. The dippers are to my mind well-nigh the most
attractive of all our birds. They stay through the winter in the
Yellowstone because the waters are in many places open. We heard them
singing cheerfully, their ringing melody having a certain suggestion of
the winter wren's. Usually they sang while perched on some rock on the
edge or in the middle of the stream; but sometimes on the wing. In the
open places the western meadow larks were also uttering their singular
beautiful songs. No bird escaped John Burroughs' eye; no bird note
escaped his ear.

On the last day of my stay it was arranged that I should ride down from
Mammoth Hot Springs to the town of Gardiner, just outside the Park
limits, and there make an address at the laying of the corner stone of
the arch by which the main road is to enter the Park. Some three
thousand people had gathered to attend the ceremonies. A little over a
mile from Gardiner we came down out of the hills to the flat plain; from
the hills we could see the crowd gathered around the arch waiting for me
to come. We put spurs to our horses and cantered rapidly toward the
appointed place, and on the way we passed within forty yards of a score
of black-tails, which merely moved to one side and looked at us, and
within a hundred yards of half a dozen antelope. To any lover of nature
it could not help being a delightful thing to see the wild and timid
creatures of the wilderness rendered so tame; and their tameness in the
immediate neighborhood of Gardiner, on the very edge of the Park, spoke
volumes for the patriotic good sense of the citizens of Montana. Major
Pitcher informed me that both the Montana and Wyoming people were
co-operating with him in zealous fashion to preserve the game and put a
stop to poaching. For their attitude in this regard they deserve the
cordial thanks of all Americans interested in these great popular
playgrounds, where bits of the old wilderness scenery and the old
wilderness life are to be kept unspoiled for the benefit of our
children's children. Eastern people, and especially eastern sportsmen,
need to keep steadily in mind the fact that the westerners who live in
the neighborhood of the forest preserves are the men who in the last
resort will determine whether or not these preserves are to be
permanent. They cannot in the long run be kept as forest and game
reservations unless the settlers roundabout believe in them and heartily
support them; and the rights of these settlers must be carefully
safeguarded, and they must be shown that the movement is really in their
interest. The eastern sportsman who fails to recognize these facts can
do little but harm by advocacy of forest reserves.

[Illustration: A SILHOUETTE OF BLACKTAIL.]

It was in the interior of the Park, at the hotels beside the lake, the
falls, and the various geyser basins, that we would have seen the bears
had the season been late enough; but unfortunately the bears were still
for the most part hibernating. We saw two or three tracks, and found one
place where a bear had been feeding on a dead elk, but the animals
themselves had not yet begun to come about the hotels. Nor were the
hotels open. No visitors had previously entered the Park in the winter
or early spring--the scouts and other employees being the only ones who
occasionally traverse it. I was sorry not to see the bears, for the
effect of protection upon bear life in the Yellowstone has been one of
the phenomena of natural history. Not only have they grown to realize
that they are safe, but, being natural scavengers and foul feeders, they
have come to recognize the garbage heaps of the hotels as their special
sources of food supply. Throughout the summer months they come to all
the hotels in numbers, usually appearing in the late afternoon or
evening, and they have become as indifferent to the presence of men as
the deer themselves--some of them very much more indifferent. They have
now taken their place among the recognized sights of the Park, and the
tourists are nearly as much interested in them as in the geysers.

[Illustration: BLACK BEARS AT HOTEL GARBAGE HEAP.]

It was amusing to read the proclamations addressed to the tourists by
the Park management, in which they were solemnly warned that the bears
were really wild animals, and that they must on no account be either fed
or teased. It is curious to think that the descendants of the great
grizzlies which were the dread of the early explorers and hunters should
now be semi-domesticated creatures, boldly hanging around crowded hotels
for the sake of what they can pick up, and quite harmless so long as any
reasonable precaution is exercised. They are much safer, for instance,
than any ordinary bull or stallion, or even ram, and, in fact, there is
no danger from them at all unless they are encouraged to grow too
familiar or are in some way molested. Of course among the thousands of
tourists there is a percentage of thoughtless and foolish people; and
when such people go out in the afternoon to look at the bears feeding
they occasionally bring themselves into jeopardy by some senseless
act. The black bears and the cubs of the bigger bears can readily be
driven up trees, and some of the tourists occasionally do this. Most of
the animals never think of resenting it; but now and then one is run
across which has its feelings ruffled by the performance. In the summer
of 1902 the result proved disastrous to a too inquisitive tourist. He
was traveling with his wife, and at one of the hotels they went out
toward the garbage pile to see the bears feeding. The only bear in sight
was a large she, which, as it turned out, was in a bad temper because
another party of tourists a few minutes before had been chasing her cubs
up a tree. The man left his wife and walked toward the bear to see how
close he could get. When he was some distance off she charged him,
whereupon he bolted back toward his wife. The bear overtook him, knocked
him down and bit him severely. But the man's wife, without hesitation,
attacked the bear with that thoroughly feminine weapon, an umbrella, and
frightened her off. The man spent several weeks in the Park hospital
before he recovered. Perhaps the following telegram sent by the manager
of the Lake Hotel to Major Pitcher illustrates with sufficient clearness
the mutual relations of the bears, the tourists, and the guardians of
the public weal in the Park. The original was sent me by Major
Pitcher. It runs:

"Lake. 7-27-'03. Major Pitcher, Yellowstone: As many as seventeen bears
in an evening appear on my garbage dump. To-night eight or ten. Campers
and people not of my hotel throw things at them to make them run away. I
cannot, unless there personally, control this. Do you think you could
detail a trooper to be there every evening from say six o'clock until
dark and make people remain behind danger line laid out by Warden Jones?
Otherwise I fear some accident. The arrest of one or two of these
campers might help. My own guests do pretty well as they are told.
James Barton Key. 9 A.M."

Major Pitcher issued the order as requested.

[Illustration: CHAMBERMAID AND BEAR.]

At times the bears get so bold that they take to making inroads on the
kitchen. One completely terrorized a Chinese cook. It would drive him
off and then feast upon whatever was left behind. When a bear begins to
act in this way or to show surliness it is sometimes necessary to shoot
it. Other bears are tamed until they will feed out of the hand, and
will come at once if called. Not only have some of the soldiers and
scouts tamed bears in this fashion, but occasionally a chambermaid or
waiter girl at one of the hotels has thus developed a bear as a pet.

The accompanying photographs not only show bears very close up, with men
standing by within a few yards of them, but they also show one bear
being fed from the piazza by a cook, and another standing beside a
particular friend, a chambermaid in one of the hotels. In these
photographs it will be seen that some are grizzlies and some black
bears.

This whole episode of bear life in the Yellowstone is so extraordinary
that it will be well worth while for any man who has the right powers
and enough time, to make a complete study of the life and history of the
Yellowstone bears. Indeed, nothing better could be done by some one of
our outdoor fauna naturalists than to spend at least a year in the
Yellowstone, and to study the life habits of all the wild creatures
therein. A man able to do this, and to write down accurately and
interestingly what he had seen, would make a contribution of permanent
value to our nature literature.

In May, after leaving the Yellowstone, I visited the Grand Canyon of the
Colorado, and spent three days camping in the Yosemite Park with John
Muir. It is hard to make comparisons among different kinds of scenery,
all of them very grand and very beautiful; yet personally to me the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado, strange and desolate, terrible and awful in
its sublimity, stands alone and unequaled. I very earnestly wish that
Congress would make it a national park, and I am sure that such course
would meet the approbation of the people of Arizona. As to the Yosemite
Valley, if the people of California desire it, as many of them certainly
do, it also should be taken by the National Government to be kept as a
national park, just as the surrounding country, including some of the
groves of giant trees, is now kept.

[Illustration: COOK AND BEAR.]

John Muir and I, with two packers and three pack mules, spent a
delightful three days in the Yosemite. The first night was clear, and we
lay in the open on beds of soft fir boughs among the giant sequoias. It
was like lying in a great and solemn cathedral, far vaster and more
beautiful than any built by hand of man. Just at nightfall I heard,
among other birds, thrushes which I think were Rocky Mountain
hermits--the appropriate choir for such a place of worship. Next day we
went by trail through the woods, seeing some deer--which were not
wild--as well as mountain quail and blue grouse. In the afternoon we
struck snow, and had considerable difficulty in breaking our own
trails. A snow storm came on toward evening, but we kept warm and
comfortable in a grove of the splendid silver firs--rightly named
magnificent, near the brink of the wonderful Yosemite Valley. Next day
we clambered down into it and at nightfall camped in its bottom, facing
the giant cliffs over which the waterfalls thundered.

Surely our people do not understand even yet the rich heritage that is
theirs. There can be nothing in the world more beautiful than the
Yosemite, its groves of giant sequoias and redwoods, the Canyon of the
Colorado, the Canyon of the Yellowstone, the three Tetons; and the
representatives of the people should see to it that they are preserved
for the people forever, with their majestic beauty all unmarred.

_Theodore Roosevelt_.




The Zoology of North American Big Game


Among the many questions asked of the naturalist by an inquiring public,
few come up more persistently than "What is the difference between a
bison and a buffalo; and which is the American animal?"

The interest which so many people find in questions such as this must
serve as a justification for the present paper, which proposes no more
than to put into concise form what is known of the zoological relations
of the animals which come within the special interest of the Boone and
Crockett Club. In doing this, conclusions must, as a rule, be stated
with few of the facts upon which they rest, for to give more than the
plainest of these would be to far outrun the possible limits of space,
and would furthermore lead into technical details which to most readers
are obscure and wearisome.

[Illustration: BULL BISON.]

Anyone who consults Dr. Johnson's famous dictionary will be illuminated
by the definition of camelopard: "An Abyssinian animal taller than an
elephant, but not so thick," and even but a few years back all that was
considered necessary to answer the question, "what is a bison?" was to
state that it is a wild ox with a shaggy mane and a hump on its
shoulders, and the thing was done; but in our own time a satisfactory
answer must take account of its relationship to other beasts, for we
have come to believe that the differences between animals are simply the
blank spaces upon the chart of universal life, against which are traced
the resemblances, which, as we follow them back into remote periods of
geologic time, reveal to us definite lines of succession with structural
change, and these, correctly interpreted, are nothing less than actual
lines of blood relationship. To know what an animal is, therefore, we
must know something of its family tree.

It is perhaps well to emphasize the need of correct interpretation, for
there are no bridges on the paths of palaeontology, and as we go back,
more than one great gap occurs between series of strata, marking periods
of intervening time which there is no means of measuring, but during
which we know that the progress of change in the animals then living
never ceased. When such a break is reached, the course of phylogeny is
like picking up an interrupted trail, with the additional complication
that the one we find is never quite like the one we left, and it is in
such conditions that the systematist must apply his knowledge of the
general progressive tendencies through the ages of change, to the
determination of the particular changes he should expect to find in the
special case before him, and so be enabled to recognize the footprints
he is in search of. The genius to do this has been given to few, but in
their hands the results have often been brilliant.

Back in the very earliest Tertiary deposits, and in all certainty even
earlier, a group of comparatively small mammals was extensively spread
through America, and apparently less widely in Europe, characterized by
a primitive form of foot structure, each of which had five complete
digits, the whole sole being placed upon the ground, as in the animals
we call plantigrade. The grinding surfaces of their molar teeth were
also primitive, bearing none of the complicated, curved crests and
ridges possessed by present ruminants, but instead they had conical
cusps, usually not more than three to a tooth; this tritubercular style
of molar crown being about the earliest known in true mammals.

In the opinion of many palaeontologists, the ancestors of the present
hoofed beasts, or ungulates, were contained among these
_Condylarthra_, as they were named by Prof. Cope.

Of course, these early mammals are known to us only by their fossil and
mostly fragmentary skeletons, but it may be said that at least in the
ungulate line, the successive geological periods show steady structural
progression in certain directions. Of great importance are a decrease in
the number of functional digits; a gradual elevation of the heel, so
that their modern descendants walk on the tips of their toes, instead of
on the whole sole; a constant tendency to the development of deeply
grooved and interlocked joints in place of shallow bearing surfaces; and
to a complex pattern of the molar crowns instead of the simple type
mentioned. To this may be added as the most important factor of all in
survival, that these changes have progressed together with an increase
in the size of the brain and in the convolutions of its outer layer.

The _Condylarthra_ seem to have gone out of existence before the
time of the middle Eocene, but before this they had become separated
into the two great divisions of odd-toed and even-toed ungulates, into
which all truly hoofed beasts now living fall.

The first group (_Perissodactyla_) has always one or three toes
functionally developed, either the third, or third, second and fourth,
the two others having entirely disappeared, except for a remnant of the
fifth in the forefoot of tapirs. They have retained some at least of the
upper incisor teeth, and, except in some rhinoceroses, the canines are
also left; the molars and premolars are practically alike in all recent
species, and in all of which we know the soft parts, the stomach has but
one compartment, and there is an enormous caecum. It is probable that
they took rise earlier than their split-footed relations, and their
Tertiary remains are far more numerous, but their tendency is toward
disappearance, and among existing mammals they are represented only by
horses, asses, rhinoceroses, and tapirs.

Contrasted with these, _Artiodactyla_ have always an even number of
functional digits, the third and fourth reaching the ground
symmetrically, bearing the weight and forming the "split hoof;" the
second and fifth remain, in most cases, as mere vestiges, showing
externally as the accessory hoofs or dewclaws; in the hippopotamus alone
they are fully developed and the animal has a four-toed foot. In deer
and bovine animals the incisors and frequently the canines have
disappeared from the upper jaw, and the molars are unlike the premolars
in having two lobes instead of one. The stomach is always more or less
complex; at its extreme reaching the ruminant type with four
compartments, in association with which is a caecum reduced in size and
simple in form. Nearly all have horns or antlers, at least in one sex.

Most split-hoofed animals are ruminants, but there is a small remnant,
probably of early types, which are not. The present ungulates may be
summed up in this way:

Odd-toed: _(Perissodactyla)_--
  Horse,
  Ass,
  Rhinoceros,
  Tapir.

Even-toed: _(Artiodactyla)_--

Non-ruminants--
Hippopotamus,
Swine,
Peccaries.

Ruminants--
Camels, Llamas,
Chevrotains,
Giraffe,
Antelopes,
Sheep, Goats,
Musk-ox,
Oxen,
Deer.

The non-ruminant artiodactyls need not detain us long. Hippopotamuses
are little more than large pigs with four toes; they were never
American, though many species, some very small, are found in the
European Tertiary. The two existing species are African.

In the western hemisphere swine are represented by the peccaries,
differing from them chiefly in having six less teeth, one less accessory
toe on the hind foot, and in a stomach of more complex character.
Peccaries also have the metapodial bones supporting the two functional
digits fused together at their upper ends, forming an imperfect "cannon
bone," which is a characteristic of practically all the ruminants, but
of no other hoofed beasts. One species only enters the United States
along the Mexican border.

All non-ruminant ungulates have from four to six incisors in the upper
jaw; the canines are present, and sometimes, as in the wart hogs, reach
an extraordinary size.

Coming now to the ruminants, all digits except the third and fourth have
disappeared from camels and llamas, and the nails on these are limited
to their upper surface without forming a hoof, the under side being a
broad pad, upon which they tread. No camel-like beasts have inhabited
North America since the Pliocene age. Chevrotains, or muis deer
(_Tragulidae_), are not deer in any true sense, as they have but
three compartments to the stomach; antlers are absent and in their place
large and protruding canine teeth are developed in the upper jaw, and
the lateral metacarpal bones are complete throughout their length,
instead of being represented by a mere remnant. They are the smallest of
ungulates, and inhabit only portions of the Indo-Malayan region. Camels
also have upper canines, and the outer, upper incisors as well.

The giraffe is separated from all living ungulates by the primitive
character of its so-called "horns," which are not horns in the usual
sense, but simply bony prominences of the skull covered with hair. Some
of the earliest deer-like animals seem to have had simple or slightly
branched antlers which were not shed, and which there is reason to
believe were also hairy, and in these, as well as in other characters,
giraffes and the early deer may not have been far apart. The "okapi,"
Sir Harry Johnston's late discovery in the Uganda forests, seems to have
come from the same ancestral stock, but the giraffe has no other
existing relatives.

The true deer, to which we shall return, are readily enough
distinguished from the ox tribe and its allies by their solid and more
or less branched antlers, usually confined to males, and periodically
shed.

So, through this rapid survey, we have dropped out of the hoofed beasts
all but the bovines and their near allies, and are thus far advanced
toward our definition of a bison, but from this point we shall not find
it easy to draw sharp distinctions, for while the _Bovidae_, as a
whole, are well enough distinguished from all other animals, their
characteristics are so much mixed among themselves that it is hardly
possible to find any one or more striking features peculiar to one
group, and for most of them recourse must be had to associations of a
number of lesser characters.

Oxen, antelopes, sheep and goats agree in having hollow horns of
material similar to that of which hair and nails are formed, permanently
fixed upon the skull in all but one species; none of them have more than
the two middle digits functionally developed, one on each side of the
axis of the leg; none have the lower ends remaining of the meta-podial
bones belonging to the two accessory digits; and none have either
incisor or canine teeth in the upper jaw.

From animals so constructed we may first take out goats and sheep, in
which the female horns are much smaller than those of males, and in some
species are even absent. In nearly all of them the horns are noticeably
compressed in section, either triangular or sub-triangular near the
base, and are directed sometimes outwardly from the head with a circular
sweep; at others with a backward curve, often spirally. The muzzle is
always hairy; there is no small accessory column on the inner side of
the upper molars, found always in oxen and in some antelopes; the tail
is short, and scent glands are present between the digits of some or all
the feet.

Now, as to the perplexing animals popularly known as antelopes. No
definition could be framed which would include them all in one group,
for every subordinate character seems to be present in some and absent
in others, so that the most that can be done with this vast assemblage
is to arrange its contents in series of genera, which may or may not be
called sub-families, but which probably correspond in some degree to
their real affinities. We can only say of any one of them that it is an
antelope because it is not a sheep, nor a goat, nor an ox. They concern
us here only to be eliminated, for they are not American, our prong-buck
having a sub-family all to itself, as we shall see later, and the
so-called "white goat" being usually regarded as neither goat nor truly
antelope.

Within the limits of the real bovine animals, four quite distinct types
may be made out, chiefly by the position of the horns upon the skull and
by the shape of the horns themselves. There are also differences in the
relations of the nasal and premaxillary bones, the development of the
neural spines of the vertebrae, and the hairy covering of the body.

In the genus _Bos_ the horns are placed high up on the vertex of
the skull, which forms a marked transverse ridge from which the hinder
portion falls sharply away. The horns are nearly circular in section and
almost smooth; usually they curve outward, then upward and often inward
at the tip; the premaxillaries are long and generally reach to the
nasals, and the anterior dorsal vertebrae are without sharply elongated
spines, so that the line of the back is nearly straight. These, the true
oxen, as they are sometimes termed, now exist only in domesticated
breeds of cattle.

In the gaur oxen (_Bibos_) the horns are situated as in _Bos_,
high up on the vertex, but are more elliptical in section; the
premaxillaries are short; the dorsal vertebrae, from the third to the
eleventh, bear elongated spines which produce a hump reaching nearly to
the middle of the back; the tail is shorter, and the hair is short all
over the body. The three species--gaur, gayal and banteng--inhabit
Indo-Malayan countries, and all of them are dark brown with white
stockings.

The buffaloes (_Bubalus_) are large and clumsy animals with horns
more or less compressed or flattened at their bases, set low down on the
vertex, which does not show the high transverse ridge of true oxen and
gaurs. In old bulls of the African species the horns meet at their base
and completely cover the forehead. In the arni of India they are
enormously long. The dorsal spines are not much elongated, and there is
no distinct hump; the premaxillae are long enough to reach the
nasals. Hair is scanty all over the body, and old animals are almost
wholly bare. The small and interesting anoa of Celebes, and the tamarao
of Mindoro, are nearly related in all important respects to the Indian
buffalo, and the carabao, used for draught and burden in the
Philippines, belongs to a long domesticated race of the same animal.

Finally, in the genus _Bison_ the horns are below the vertex as in
buffaloes, but are set far apart at the base, which is cylindrical; they
are short and their curve is forward, upward and inward; the anterior
dorsal and the last cervical vertebrae have long spines which bear a
distinct hump on the shoulders; the premaxillae are short and never
reach the nasals; there are fourteen, or occasionally fifteen, pairs of
ribs, all other oxen having but thirteen, and there is a heavy mane
about the neck and shoulders. The yak of central Asia is very bison-like
in some respects, but in others departs in the direction of oxen.

So at last, group by group, we have gone through the ungulates, and the
bisons alone are left, and as the American animal has short, incurved
horns, set low down on the skull and far apart at the base;
premaxillaries falling short of the nasals; the last cervical and the
anterior dorsal vertebrae with spines; fourteen pairs of ribs, and a
mane covering the shoulders, we conclude that it is a bison, and as the
same characteristics with minor variations are shown by the European
species, often, but wrongly, called "aurochs," we say that these two
alone of existing _Bovidae_ are bisons, with the yak as a somewhat
questionable relative.

In all essential respects the two bisons are very similar, but minute
comparison shows that the European species, _Bison bonasus_, has a
wider and flatter forehead, bearing longer and more slender horns, and
all the other distinctive features are less pronounced. In the American
species, _Bison bison_, the pelvis is less elevated, producing the
characteristic slope of the hindquarters. It is a coincidence that the
two regions originally inhabited by the bisons are those in which the
white races of men have to the greatest extent thrown their restless
energies into the struggle for existence, with the result that
extinction to nearly the same degree has overtaken these two near
cousins among oxen. A few wild members of the European species still
exist in the Caucasus, as a few of the American are left in British
America, but elsewhere both exist only under protection.

The carefully kept statistics of the Bielowitza herd in Grodno, western
Russia, which includes nearly all but the few wild ones, shows that
between 1833 and 1857 they increased in number from 768 to 1,898, but
from this maximum the decrease has been constant, with trifling halts,
until in 1892 less than five hundred were left; so that even if the
Peace River bison are counted with the remnant of the American species,
it is probable that the survivors of each race are about equal in
number.

It is true that the number of our own species has lately been placed as
high as a thousand, but even if these figures are correct, the seeds of
decay from internal causes, such as inbreeding and the degeneration of
restraint, are already sown, and the inevitable end of the race is not
far off.

The Peace River, or woodland, bison has lately been separated as a
sub-species _(B. bison athabascae)_, distinguished from the
southern and better known form by superior size, a wider forehead,
longer, more slender and incurved horns, and by a thicker and softer
coat, which is also darker in color. Now, it is an interesting fact that
a fossil bison skull from the lower Pliocene of India resembles the
present European species, and in later geological times very similar
bisons closely allied to each other, if not identical, inhabited all
northern regions, including America. These were large animals with wide
skulls, and there is little doubt that from this circumpolar form came
both of the bisons now inhabiting Europe and America. Out of some half
dozen fossil bison which have been described from America, none earlier
than the latest Tertiary, _Bison latifrons_ from the Pleistocene
seems likely to have been the immediate ancestor of recent American
species, and as the one skull of the woodland bison which has been
examined resembles both _latifrons_ and the European species more
than the plains species does, it seems probable that these two more
nearly represent the primitive bison, of which the former inhabitant of
the prairies is a more modified descendant.

The process of elimination has at last led to this outline definition of
a bison, but among the ungulates we have passed over, there are certain
others which concern us because they are American.

Sheep and goats agree together and differ from oxen in being usually of
smaller size; the tail is shorter, the horns of females are much smaller
than those of males, they lack the accessory column on the inner side of
the upper molars, and the cannon bone is longer and more slender; but
when it comes to a comparison of the one with the other, it is by no
means always easy to tell the difference. It is true that the early
Greeks seem to have had a rough and ready rule under which mistakes were
not easy, for Aristotle tells us "Alcmaeon is mistaken when he says that
goats breathe through their ears," but the severely practical methods of
our own day leave us little but some very minute points of
difference. One of the best of these lies in the shape of the
basi-occipital bone, but naturally this can be observed only in the
prepared skull. The terms often employed to denote difference in the
horns can have only a general application, for they break down in
certain species in which the two groups approach each other. The
following table expresses some fairly definite points of separation:


     SHEEP (_Ovis_).               GOAT (_Capra_).

1. Muzzle hairy except between    1. Muzzle entirely hairy.
   and just above the
   nostrils.

2. Interdigital glands on all     2. Interdigital glands, when
   the feet.                         present, only on fore feet.

3. Suborbital gland and pit       3. Suborbital gland and pit
   usually present.                  never present.

4. No beard nor caprine           4. Male with a beard and
   smell in male.                    caprine smell.

5. Horns with coarse transverse   5. Horns with fine transverse
   wrinkles; yellowish               striations, or bold knobs
   or brown; sub-triangular          in front; blackish; in male
   in male, spreading outward        more compressed or angular,
   and forward with a                sweeping backward
   circular sweep, points            with a scythe-like curve or
   turned outward and forward        spirally, points turned upward
                                     and backward.


These features are distinctive as between most sheep and most goats, but
the Barbary wild sheep (_Ovis tragelaphus_) has no suborbital gland
or pit, a goat-like peculiarity which it shares with the Himalayan
bharal (_Ovis nahura_), in which the horns resemble closely
those of a goat from the eastern Caucasus called tur (_Capra
cylindricornis_), which for its part has the horns somewhat
sheep-like and a very small beard. This same bharal has the goat-like
habit of raising itself upon its hind legs before butting.

Both groups are a comparatively late development of the bovine stock, as
they do not certainly appear before the upper Pliocene of Europe and
Asia, and even at a later date their remains are not plentiful. Goats
appear to have been rather the earlier, but are entirely absent from
America.

The number of distinct species of sheep in our fauna is a matter of too
much uncertainty to be treated with any sort of authority at this time.
Most of us grew up in the belief that there was but one, the well-known
mountain sheep (_Ovis canadensis_), but seven new species and
sub-species have been produced from the systematic mill within recent
years, six of them since 1897. It is no part of the purpose of the
present paper to dwell upon much vexed questions of specific
distinctness, and it will only be pointed out here that the ultimate
validity of most of these supposed forms will depend chiefly upon the
exactness of the conception of species which will replace among
zoologists the vague ideas of the present time. Whatever the conclusion
may be, it seems probable that some degree of distinction will be
accorded to, at least, one or two Alaskan forms.

As sheep probably came into America from Asia during the Pleistocene, at
a time when Bering's Strait was closed by land, it might be expected
that those now found here would show relationship to the Kamtschatkan
species (_Ovis nivicola_); and such is indeed the case, while
furthermore, in the small size of the suborbital gland and pit, and in
comparative smoothness of the horns, both species approach the bharal of
Thibet and India, which in these respects is goat-like.

When one considers the poverty of the new world in bovine ruminants, it
seems strange that three such anomalous forms should have fallen to its
share as the prong-horn, the white goat and the musk-ox, of none of
which have we the complete history; two of the number being entirely
isolated species, sometimes regarded as the types of separate families.

The prong-horn is a curious compound. It resembles sheep in the minute
structure of its hair, in its hairy muzzle, and in having interdigital
glands on all its feet. Like goats, it has no sub-orbital gland nor
distinct pit. Like the chamois, it has a gland below and behind the ear,
the secretion of which has a caprine odor. It has also glands on the
rump. It is like the giraffe in total absence of the accessory hoofs,
even to the metapodials which support them. It differs from all hollow
horned ungulates in having deciduous horns with a fork or anterior
branch. There is not the least similarity, however, between these horns
and the bony deciduous antlers of deer, for, like those of all bovines,
they are composed of agglutinated hairs, set on a bony core projecting
from the frontal region of the skull.

It is well known that these horn sheaths are at times shed and
reproduced, but the exact regularity with which the process takes place
is by no means certain, although such direct evidence as there is goes
to prove that it occurs annually in the autumn. Prong-bucks have shed
on eight occasions in the Zoological Gardens at Philadelphia, five times
by the same animal, which reached the gardens in October, 1899, and has
shed each year early in November, the last time on October 22, 1903,[1]
and the writer has seen one fine head killed about November 5 in a wild
state, on which the horn-sheaths were loose and ready to drop off.

[Footnote 1: It is interesting to note that the first pair shed measured
7-1/4 inches, on the anterior curve; the second pair 9-1/2, and the last
three 11 inches each. The largest horns ever measured by the writer were
those of a buck killed late in November, 1892, near Marathon, Texas, and
were 15-3/4 inches in vertical height and 21 along the curve.]

But few of these delicate animals have lived long enough in captivity to
permit study of the same individual through a course of years, and the
scarcity of observations made upon them in a wild state is
remarkable. That irregularity in the process would not be without
analogy, is shown by the case of the Indian sambur deer, of which there
is evidence from such authority as that king of sportsmen, Sir Samuel
Baker, and others, that the shedding does not always occur at the same
season, nor is it always annual in the same buck; and by Pore David's
deer, which has been known to shed twice in one year.

When resemblances such as those of the prong-horn are so promiscuously
distributed, the task of fixing their values in estimating affinities is
not a light one, and in fact the most rational conclusion which we may
draw from them is that they point back to a distant and generalized
ancestor, who possessed them all, but that in the distribution of his
physical estate, so to speak, these heirlooms have not come down alike
to all descendants. There is again a complicating possibility that some
may be no more than adaptive or analogous characters, similarly produced
under like conditions of life, but quite independent of a common origin,
and it is seldom that we know enough of the history of development of
any species to conclude with certainty whether or not this has been the
case. At all events, the prong-buck is quite alone in the world at
present, and we know no fossils which unmistakably point to it, although
it has been supposed that some of the later Miocene species of
_Cosoryx_--small deer-like animals with non-deciduous horns,
probably covered with hair, and molars of somewhat bovine type--may have
been ancestral to it, but this is little more than a speculation. What
is certain is that _Antilocapra_ is now a completely isolated form,
fully entitled to rank as a family all by itself.

In the musk-ox (_Ovibos moschatus_), or "sheep-ox," as the generic
name given by Blainville has it, we meet with another strange and lonely
form which has contributed its full share to the problems of systematic
zoology. Its remote and inaccessible range has greatly retarded
knowledge of its structure, and it is only within the last three years
that acquaintance has been made with its soft anatomy, and at the same
time with a maze of resemblances and differences toward other ruminants,
that perhaps more than equals the irregularities of the prong-buck. But
unlike that species, there is in the musk-ox no extreme modification,
such as a deciduous horn, to separate it distinctly from the rest of the
family. A recapitulation of these differences would be too minutely
technical for insertion here, and it must be enough to say that while it
cannot be assigned to either group, yet in the distribution of hair on
the muzzle, in the presence of a small suborbital gland, in shortness of
tail and the light color of its horns, it is sheep-like; in the absence
of interdigital glands, the shortness and stoutness of its cannon bones,
and in the presence of a small accessory inner column on the upper
molars, it is bovine. But in the coarse longitudinal striation of the
bases of its horns it differs from both. The shape of the horns is also
peculiar. Curving outward, downward and then sharply upward, with
broad, flattened bases meeting in the middle line, their outlines are
not unlike those of old bulls of the African buffalo.

At the present time the musk-ox inhabits only arctic America, from
Greenland westward nearly to the Mackenzie River, but its range was
formerly circumpolar, and in Pleistocene times it inhabited Europe as
far south as Germany and France. The musk-ox of Greenland has lately
been set aside as a distinct species. The most we can say is that
_Ovibos_ is a unique form, standing perhaps somewhere between oxen
and sheep, and descended from an ancient ruminant type through an
ancestry of which we know nothing, for the only fossil remains which are
at all distinguishable from the existing genus, are yet closely similar
to it, and are no older than the Pleistocene of the central United
States; in earlier periods its history is a blank about which it is
useless to speculate.

The last of our three anomalies, the white, or mountain goat
(_Oreamnos montanus_), is not as completely orphaned as the other
two, for it seems quite surely to be connected with a small and peculiar
series consisting of the European chamois and several species of
_Nemorhaedus_ inhabiting eastern Asia and Sumatra. These are often
called mountain antelopes, or goat antelopes. So little is yet known of
the soft anatomy of the white goat that we are much in the dark as to
its minute resemblances, but its glandular system is certainly
suggestive of the chamois, and many of its attitudes are strikingly
similar. In all the points in which it approaches goats it is like some,
at least, among antelopes, while in the elongated spines of the anterior
dorsal vertebrae, which support the hump, and in extreme shortness of
the cannon bone, it is far from goat-like. The goat idea, indeed, has
little more foundation than the suggestive resemblance of the profile
with its caprine beard. It is truly no goat at all, and should more
properly be regarded as an aberrant antelope, if anything could be
justly termed "aberrant" in an aggregation of animals, hardly any two of
which agree in all respects of structure. No American fossils seem to
point to _Oreamnos_, and as _Nemorhaedus_ extends to Japan and
eastern Siberia, it is probable that it was an Asiatic immigrant, not
earlier than the Pleistocene.

From this intricate genealogical tangle one turns with relief to the
deer family, where the course of development lies reasonably plain. If
the rank of animals in the aristocracy of nature were to be fixed by the
remoteness of the period to which we know their ancestors, the deer
would out-rank their bovine cousins by a full half of the Miocene
period, and the study of fossils onward from this early beginning
presents few clearer lines of evidence supporting modern theories
respecting the development of species, than is shown in the increasing
size and complexity of the antlers in succeeding geological ages, from
the simple fork of the middle Miocene to those with three prongs of the
late Miocene, the four-pronged of the Pliocene, and finally to the
many-branched shapes of the Pleistocene and the present age. Now it is
further true that each one of these types is represented today in the
mature antlers of existing deer, from the small South American species
with a simple spike, up to the wapiti and red deer carrying six or eight
points, and still more significant is it that the whole story is
recapitulated in the growth of each individual of the higher races. The
earliest cervine animals known seem to have had no antlers at all, a
stage to which the fawn of the year corresponds; the subsequent normal
addition in the life-history, of a tine for each year of growth until
the mature antler is reached, answering with exactness to the stages of
advance shown in the development-history of the race. A year of
individual life is the symbol of a geological period of
progression. This is a marvelous record, of which we may
say--paraphrasing with Huxley the well-known saying of Voltaire--"if it
had not already existed, evolution must have been invented to explain."

The least technical, and for the present purpose the most useful of the
characters distinguishing existing deer from all of the bovine stock,
lies in the antlers, which are solid, of bony substance, and are
annually shed. They are present in the males of all species except the
Chinese water deer, and the very divergent musk-deer, which probably
should not be regarded as a deer at all. They are normally absent from
all females except those of the genus _Rangifer_. Most deer have
canine teeth in the upper jaw, though they are absent in the moose, in
the distinctively American type and a few others. The cleaned skull
always shows a large vacuity in the outer wall in front of the orbit,
which prevents the lachrymal bone from reaching the nasals. No deer has
a gall bladder. There are many other distinctions, but as all have
exceptions they are of value only in combinations.

The earliest known deer, belonging to the genus _Dremotherium_, or
_Amphitragulus_, from the middle Tertiary of France, were of small
size and had four toes, canine teeth and no antlers. Their successors
seem to have borne simple forked antlers or horns, probably covered with
hair, and permanently fixed on the skull. Very similar animals existed
in contemporaneous and later deposits in North America. From this point
the course of progress is tolerably clear as to deer in general,
although we are not sure of all the intermediate details--for it must
not be forgotten that a series of types exhibiting progressive
modifications in each succeeding geological period is quite as
conclusive in pointing out the genealogy of an existing group as if we
knew each individual term in the ancestral series of each of its
members. Thus we do not yet know whether the peculiar antler of the
distinctively American deer, of the genus _Mazama_, is derived from
an American source or took its origin in the old world, for the fossil
antlers known as _Anoglochis_, from the Pliocene of Europe, are
quite suggestive of the _Mazama_ style, but as nothing is known of
the other skeletal details of _Anoglochis_, any such connection
must at present be purely speculative, but the element of doubt in this
special case in no way disturbs the certainty of the general conclusion
that all our present _Cérvidae_ have come through distinct stages
in the successive periods, from the simple types of the middle Tertiary.

The family is undoubtedly of old world origin, and for the most part
belongs to the northern hemisphere, South America being the only
continental area in which they are found south of the equator.

The analytical habit of mind which finds vent in the subdivision of
species, is also exhibited in a tendency to break up large genera into a
number of small ones, but in the present group this practice has the
disadvantage of obscuring a broad distinction between the dominant types
inhabiting respectively the old world and the new. The former,
represented by the genus _Cervus_, has a brow-tine to the antlers;
has the posterior portion of the nasal chamber undivided by the vertical
plate of the vomer; and the upper ends only of the lateral metacarpals
remain, whereas in all these particulars the typical American deer are
exactly opposite. As there are objections to considering these
characters as of family value, arising from the intermediate position of
the circumpolar genera _Alces_ and _Rangifer_, as well as the
water deer and the roe, a broader meaning is given to classification by
retaining the comprehensive genera _Cervus_ and _Mazama_, and
recognizing the subordinate divisions only as sub-genera.

The one representative of _Cervus_ inhabiting America is the
wapiti, or "elk" (_C. canadensis_), which is without doubt an
immigrant from Asia by way of Alaska, and it may be of interest to state
the grounds upon which this conclusion rests, as they afford an
excellent example of the way in which such results are reached. It is an
accepted truth in geographical distribution, that the portion of the
earth in which the greatest number of forms differentiated from one type
are to be found, is almost always the region in which that type had its
origin. Now, out of about a dozen species and sub-species of wapiti and
red deer to which names have been given, not less than eight are
Asiatic, so that Asia, and probably its central portion, is indicated as
the region in which the elaphine deer arose; in confirmation of which is
the further fact that the antler characteristic of these deer seems to
have originated from the same ancestral form as that which produced the
sikine and rusine types, which are also Asiatic. From this centre the
elaphines spread westward and eastward, resulting in Europe in the red
deer, which penetrated southward into north Africa at a time when there
was a land connection across the Mediterranean. In the opposite
direction, the nearer we get to Bering's Straits the closer is the
resemblance to the American wapiti, until the splendid species from the
Altai Mountains (_C. canadensis asiaticus_), and Luehdorf's deer
(_C. c. luehdorfi_) from Manchuria, are regarded only as sub-species
of the eastern American form, which they approach through _C. c.
occidentalis_ of Oregon and the northwestern Pacific Coast.

This evidence is conclusive in itself, and is further confirmed by the
geological record, from which we know that the land connection between
Alaska and Kamtschatka was of Pliocene age, while we have no knowledge
of the wapiti in America until the succeeding period.

While there is not the least doubt that the smaller American deer had an
origin identical with those of the old world, the exact point of their
separation is not so clear. Two possibilities are open to choice:
_Mazama_ may be supposed to have descended from the group to which
_Blastomeryx_ belonged, this being a late Miocene genus from
Nebraska, with cervine molars, but otherwise much like _Cosoryx,_
which we have seen to be a possible ancestor of the prong-horn; or we
may prefer to believe that the differentiation took place earlier in
Europe or Asia, from ancestors common to both. But there is a serious
dilemma. If we choose the former view, we must conclude that the
deciduous antler was independently developed in each of the two
continents, and while it is quite probable that approximately similar
structures have at times arisen independently, it is not easy to believe
that an arrangement so minutely identical in form and function can have
been twice evolved. On the second supposition, we have to face the fact
that there is very little evidence from palaeontology of the former
presence of the American type in Eurasia. But, on the whole, the latter
hypothesis presents fewer difficulties and is probably the correct one;
in which case two migrations must have taken place, an earlier one of
the generalized type to which _Blastomeryx_ and _Cosoryx_ belonged,
and a later one of the direct ancestor of _Mazama_. There is
little difficulty in the assumption of these repeated migrations,
for evidence exists that during a great part of the last half
of the Tertiary this continent was connected by land to the
northwest with Asia, and to the northeast, through Greenland and
Iceland, with western Europe.

The distinction between the two groups is well marked. All the
_Mazama_ type are without a true brow-tine to the antlers; the
lower ends of the lateral metacarpals only remain; the vertical plate of
the vomer extends downward and completely separates the hind part of the
nasal chamber into two compartments; and with hardly an exception they
have a large gland on the inside of the tarsus, or heel. The complete
development of these characters is exhibited in northern species, and it
has been beautifully shown that as we go southward there is a strong
tendency to diminished size; toward smaller antlers and reduction in the
number of tines; to smaller size, and finally complete loss of the
metatarsal gland on the outside of the hind leg; and to the assumption
of a uniform color throughout the year, instead of a seasonal change.

The two styles of antler which we recognize in the North American deer
are too well known to require description. That characterizing the mule
deer (_Mazama hemionus_) and the Columbia black-tailed deer
(_M. columbiana_), seems never to have occurred in the east, nor
south much beyond the Mexican border, and these deer have varied little
except in size, although three subspecies have lately been set off from
the mule deer in the extreme southwest.

The section represented by _M. virginiana,_ with antlers curving
forward and tines projecting from its hinder border, takes practically
the whole of America in its range, and under the law of variation which
has been stated, has proved a veritable gold mine to the makers of
names. At present it is utterly useless to attempt to determine which of
the forms described will stand the scrutiny of the future, and no more
will be attempted here than to state the present gross contents of
cervine literature. The sub-genus _Dorcelaphus_ contains all the
forms of the United States; of these, the deer belonging east of the
Missouri River, those from the great plains to the Pacific, those along
the Rio Grande in Texas and Mexico, those of Florida, and those again of
Sonora, are each rated as sub-species of _virginiana_; to which we
must add six more, ranging from Mexico to Bolivia. One full species,
_M. truei,_ has been described from Central America, and another
rather anomalous creature (_M. crookii_), resembling both
white-tail and mule deer, from New Mexico.

The other sub-genera are _Blastoceros,_ with branched antlers and
no metatarsal gland; _Xenelaphus,_ smaller in size, with small,
simply forked antlers and no metatarsal gland; _Mazama_, containing
the so-called brockets, very small, with minute spike antlers, lacking
the metatarsal and sometimes the tarsal gland as well. The last three
sub-genera are South American and do not enter the United
States. Another genus, _Pudua_, from Chili, is much like the
brockets, but has exceedingly short cannon bones, and some of the tarsal
bones are united in a manner unlike other deer. In all, thirty specific
and sub-specific names are now carried on the roll of _Mazama_ and
its allies.

Attention has already been directed to the parallelism between the
course of progress from simple to complex antlers in the development of
the deer tribe, and the like progress in the growth of each individual,
and to the further fact that all the stages are represented in the
mature antlers of existing species. But a curious result follows from a
study of the past distribution of deer in America. At a time when the
branched stage had been already reached in North America, the isthmus of
Panama was under water; deer were then absent from South America and the
earliest forms found fossil there had antlers of the type of
_M. virginiana_. The small species with simple antlers only made
their appearance in later periods, and it follows that they are
descended from those of complex type. This third parallel series,
therefore, instead of being direct as are the other two, is reversed,
and the degeneration of the antler, which we have seen taking place in
the southern deer, has followed backward on the line of previous
advance, or, in biological language, appears to be a true case of
retrogressive evolution--representing the fossil series, as it were, in
a mirror.

The reindeer-caribou type, of the genus _Rangifer,_ agrees with
American deer in having the vertical plate of the vomer complete, and in
having the lower ends of the lateral metacarpals remaining, but, like
_Cervus,_ it has a brow-tine to the antlers. Of its early history
we know nothing, for the only related forms which have yet come to light
are of no great antiquity, being confined to the Pleistocene of Europe
as far south as France, and are not distinguishable from existing
species. Until recently it has been supposed that one species was found
in northern Europe and Asia, and two others, a northern and a southern,
in North America, but lately the last two have been subdivided, and the
present practice is to regard the Scandinavian reindeer (_Rangifer
tarandus_) as the type, with eight or nine other species or
sub-species, consisting of the two longest known American forms, the
northern, or barren-ground caribou (_R. arcticus_); the southern, or
woodland (_R. caribou_); the three inhabiting respectively
Spitzbergen, Greenland and Newfoundland, and still more lately four more
from British Columbia and Alaska. The differences between these are not
very profound, but they seem on the whole to represent two types: the
barren-ground, small of size, with long, slender antlers but little
palmated; and the woodland, larger, with shorter and more massive
antlers, usually with broad palms. There is some reason to believe that
both these types lived in Europe during the interglacial period, the
first-named being probably the earlier and confined to western Europe,
while the other extended into Asia. The present reindeer of Greenland
and Spitzbergen seem to agree most closely with the barren-ground, while
the southern forms are nearest to the woodland, and these are said to
also resemble the reindeer of Siberia. It is, therefore, not an
improbable conjecture that there were two migrations into America, one
of the barren-ground type from western Europe, by way of the Spitzbergen
land connection, and the other of the woodland, from Siberia, by way of
Alaska.

Little more can be said, perhaps even less, of the other circumpolar
genus, _Alces_, known in America as "moose," and across the
Atlantic as "elk." It also is of mixed character in relation to the two
great divisions we have had in mind, but in a different way from
reindeer.

Like American deer it has the lower ends of the lateral metacarpals
remaining, and the antlers are without a brow-tine, but like
_Cervus_ it has an incomplete vomer, and unlike deer in general,
the antlers are set laterally on the frontal bone, instead of more or
less vertically, and the nasal bones are excessively short. The animal
of northern Europe and Asia is usually considered to be distinct from
the American, and lately the Alaskan moose has been christened _Alces
gigas_, marked by greater size, relatively more massive skull, and
huge antlers. Of the antecedents of _Alces_, as in the case of the
reindeer, we are ignorant. The earlier Pleistocene of Europe has yielded
nearly related fossils,[2] and a peculiar and probably rather later form
comes from New Jersey and Kentucky. This last in some respects suggests
a resemblance to the wapiti, but it is unlikely that the similarity is
more than superficial, and as moose not distinguishable from the
existing species are found in the same formation, it is improbable that
_Cervalces_ bore to _AIces_ anything more than a collateral
relationship.

[Footnote 2: The huge fossil known as "Irish elk" is really a fallow
deer and in no way nearly related to the moose.]

Even to an uncritical eye, the differences between ungulates and
carnivores of to-day are many and obvious, but as we trace them back
into the past we follow on converging lines, and in our search for the
prototypes of the carnivora we are led to the _Creodonta_,
contemporary with _Condylarthra_, which we have seen giving origin
to hoofed beasts, but outlasting them into the succeeding age. These two
groups of generalized mammals approached each other so nearly in
structure, that it is even doubtful to which of them certain outlying
fossils should be referred, and the assumption is quite justified that
they had a common ancestor in the preceding period, of which no record
is yet known.

The most evident points in which _Carnivora_ differ from
_Ungulata_ are their possession of at least four and frequently
five digits, which always bear claws and never hoofs; all but the sea
otter have six small incisor teeth in each jaw; the canines are large;
the molars never show flattened, curved crests after the ruminant
pattern, but are more or less tubercular, and one tooth in the hinder
part of each jaw becomes blade-like, for shearing off lumps of
flesh. This tooth is called the sectorial, or carnassial.

Existing carnivores are conveniently divided into three sections:
_Arctoidea_--bears, raccoons, otters, skunks, weasels, etc.;
_Canoidea_--dogs, wolves and foxes; _Aeluroidea_--cats,
civets, ichneumons and hyaenas.

It is highly probable that these three chief types have descended in as
many distinct lines from the _Creodonta_, and that they were
differentiated as early as the middle Eocene, but their exact degree of
affinity is uncertain; bears and dogs are certainly closer together than
either of them are to cats, and it is questionable if otters and
weasels--the _Mustelidae_, as they are termed--and raccoons are
really near of kin to bears.

Seals are often regarded as belonging to this order, but their relation
to the rest of the carnivores is very doubtful. Many of their characters
are suggestive of _Arctoidea_, but it is an open question if their
ancestors were bear or otter-like animals which took to an aquatic life,
or whether they may not have had a long and independent descent. At all
events, doubt is cast upon the proposition that they are descended from
anything nearly like present land forms by the fact that seals of
already high development are known as early as the later Miocene.

The difficulty so constantly met with in attempting to state concisely
the details of classification, is well shown in this order, for its
subdivisions rest less upon a few well defined characters than upon
complex associations of a number of lesser and more obscure ones, a
recapitulation of which would be tedious beyond the endurance of all but
practiced anatomists. For the present purposes it must be enough to say
that bears and dogs have forty-two teeth in the complete set, of which
four on each side above and below are premolars, and two above, with
three below, are molars, but these teeth in bears have flatter crowns
and more rounded tubercles than those of dogs, and the sectorial teeth
are much less blade-like, this style of tooth being better adapted to
their omnivorous food habits. Bears, furthermore, have five digits on
each foot and are plantigrade, while dogs have but four toes behind and
are digitigrade. These differences are less marked in some of the
smaller arctoids, which may have as few as thirty-two teeth, and come
very near to dogs in the extent of the digital surface which rests upon
the ground in walking.

In distinction from these, _Aeluroidea_ never have more than two
true molars below, and the cusps of their teeth are much more sharply
edged, reaching in the sectorials the extreme of scissor-like
specialization. In all of them the claws are more or less retractile,
and they walk on the ends of their fingers and toes.

Cats are distinguished from the remainder of this section by the
shortness of the skull, and reduction of the teeth to thirty, there
being but one true molar on each side, that of the upper jaw being so
minute that it is probably getting ready to disappear.

Civets, genets, and ichneumons are small as compared with most cats;
they are fairly well distinguished by skull and tooth characters; their
claws are never fully retractile, and many have scent glands, as in the
civets. No member of this family is American.

Hyaenas have the same dental formula as cats, but their teeth are
enormously strong and massive, in relation to their function of crushing
bone.

No carnivore has teeth so admirably adapted to a diet of flesh as the
cat, and, in fact, it may be doubted if among all mammals, it has a
superior in structural fitness to its life habits in general.

The _Felidae_ are an exceedingly uniform group, although they do
present minor differences; thus, some species have the orbits completely
encircled by bone, while in most of them these are more or less widely
open behind; in some the first upper premolar is absent, and some have a
round pupil, while in others it is elliptical or vertical, but if there
is a key to the apparently promiscuous distribution of these variations,
it has not yet been found, and no satisfactory sub-division of the genus
has been made, beyond setting aside the hunting-leopard or cheetah as
_Cynaelurus_, upon peculiarities of skull and teeth.

True cats of the genus _Felis_ were in existence before the close
of the Miocene, and yet earlier related forms are known. Throughout the
greater part of the Tertiary the remarkable type known as sabre-toothed
cats were numerous and widely spread, and in South America they even
lasted so far into the Pleistocene that it is probably true that they
existed side by side with man. Some of them were as large as any
existing cat and had upper canines six inches or more in length. Cats
have no near relations upon the American continent, nor do they appear
to have ever had many except the sabre-tooths. Of present species some
fifty are known, inhabiting all of the greater geographical areas except
Australia. They are tropical and heat loving, but the short-tailed
lynxes are northern, while both the tiger and leopard in Asia, and puma
in America, range into sub-arctic temperatures, and it is a curious
anomaly that while Siberian tigers have gained the protection of a long,
warm coat of hair, pumas from British America differ very little in this
respect from those of warm regions.

No other cat has so extensive a range as _Felis concolor_ and its
close allies, variously known as puma, cougar and mountain lion, which
extends from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from latitude fifty-five
or sixty north, to the extreme southern end of the continent. As far as
is known, it is a recent development, for no very similar remains appear
previous to post-tertiary deposits.

Bears of the genus _Ursus_ are of no great antiquity in a
geological sense, for we have no knowledge of them earlier than the
Pliocene of Europe, and even later in America, but fossils becoming
gradually less bear-like and approximating toward the early type from
which dogs also probably sprung, go back to the early Tertiary
creodonts.

Cats, as we have seen, are chiefly tropical, while bears, with two
exceptions, are northern, one species inhabiting the Chilian Andes,
while the brown bear of Europe extends into North Africa as far as the
Atlas Mountains.

The family _Procyonidae_ contains the existing species which appear
to be nearest of kin to bears. These are all small and consist of the
well-known raccoon, the coatis, the ring-tailed bassaris and the
kinkajou, all differing from bears in varying details of tooth and other
structures. The curious little panda (_Aelurus fulgens_) from the
Himalayas, is very suggestive of raccoons, and as forms belonging to
this genus inhabited England in Pliocene times, it is possible that we
have pointed out to us here the origin of this, at present, strictly
American family; but, on the other hand, evidence is not wanting that
they have always been native to the soil and came from a dog-like stock.

As we have already seen, bears have the same dental formula as dogs, but
as they are less carnivorous, their grinders have flatter surfaces and
the sectorials are less sharp; in fact they have very little of the true
sectorial character. It is unusual to find a full set of teeth in adult
bears, as some of the premolars invariably drop out.

It is fully as true of bears as of any other group of large mammals,
that our views as to specific distinction are based upon data at present
utterly inadequate, for all the zoological museums of the world do not
contain sufficient material for exhaustive study and comparison. The
present writer has examined many of these collections and has no
hesitation in admitting that his ideas upon the subject are much less
definite than they were ten years ago. It does appear, though, that in
North America four quite distinct types can be made out. First of these
is the circumpolar species, _Ursus maritimus_, the white or polar
bear, which most of us grew up to regard as the very incarnation of
tenacious ferocity, but which, as it appears from the recitals of
late Arctic explorers, dies easily to a single shot, and does not
seem to afford much better sport than so much rabbit shooting.
The others are the great Kadiak bear (_U. middendorfi_); the
grizzly (_U. horribilis_), and the black or true American bear
(_U. americanus_). The extent to which the last three may
be subdivided remains uncertain, but the barren-ground bear
(_U. richardsoni_) is surely a valid species of the grizzly type.
The grizzlies and the big Alaska bears approach more nearly than
_americanus_ to the widespread brown bear (_U. arctos_) of
Europe and Asia, and the hypothesis is reasonable that they originated
from that form or its immediate ancestors, in which case we have the
interesting series of parallel modifications exhibited in the two
continents, for the large bear of Kamtschatka approaches very nearly to
those of Alaska, while further to the south in America, where the
conditions of life more nearly resemble those surrounding _arctos_,
these bears have in the grizzlies retained more of their original form.
Whether or not the large Pleistocene cave bear (_U. spelaeus_) was a
lineal ancestor is questionable, for in its later period, at least, it was
contemporary with the existing European species. The black bear, with its
litter-brother of brown color, seems to be a genuine product of the new
world.

Many differential characters have been pointed out in the skulls and teeth
of bears, and to a less extent, in the claws; but while these undoubtedly
exist, the conclusions to be drawn from them are uncertain, for the
skulls of bears change greatly with age, and the constancy of these
variations, with the values which they should hold in classification,
we do not yet know.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is not improbable that the reader may leave this brief survey with
the feeling that its admissions of ignorance exceed its affirmations of
certainty, and such is indeed the case, for the law of scientific
validity forbids the statement as fact, of that concerning which the
least element of doubt remains. But the real advance of zoological
knowledge must not thereby be discredited, for it is due to those who
have contributed to it to remember that little more than a generation
ago these problems of life seemed wrapped in hopeless obscurity, and the
methods of investigation which have led to practically all our present
gains, were then but new born, and with every passing year doubts are
dispelled, and theories turned into truths. There was no break in
physical evolution when mental processes began, nor will there be in the
evolution of knowledge as long as they continue to exist.

_Arthur Erwin Brown_.

[Illustration: TROPHIES FROM ALASKA.]




Big Game Shooting in Alaska


I.

BEAR HUNTING ON KADIAK ISLAND

Early in April, 1900, I made my first journey to Alaska for the purpose
of searching out for myself the best big-game shooting grounds which
were to be found in that territory. Few people who have not traveled in
that country have any idea of its vastness. Away from the beaten paths,
much of its 700,000 square miles is practically unknown, except to the
wandering prospector and the Indian hunter. Therefore, since I could
obtain but little definite information as to just where to go for the
best shooting, I determined to make the primary object of my journey to
locate the big-game districts of southern and western Alaska.

My first two months were spent in the country adjacent to Fort
Wrangell. Here one may expect to find black bear, brown bear, goats, and
on almost all of the islands along the coast great numbers of the small
Sitka deer, while grizzlies may these are the black, the grizzly, and
the glacier or blue bear.[3] It is claimed that this last species has
never fallen to a white man's rifle. It is found on the glaciers from
the Lynn Canal to the northern range of the St. Elias Alps, and, as its
name implies, is of a bluish color. I should judge from the skins I have
seen that in size it is rather smaller than the black bear. What it
lives upon in its range of eternal ice and snow is entirely a subject of
surmise.

[Footnote 3: The Polar bear is only found on the coast, and never below
61°. It is only found at this latitude when carried down on the ice in
Bering Sea.]

[Illustration: THE HUNTER AND HIS GAME.]

Of all the varieties of brown bears, the one which has probably
attracted most attention is the large bear of the Kadiak Islands. Before
starting upon my journey I had communicated with Dr. Merriam, Chief of
the Biological Survey, at Washington, and had learned from him all that
he could tell me of this great bear. Mr. Harriman, while on his
expedition to the Alaskan coast in 1899, had by great luck shot a
specimen, and in the second volume of "Big Game Shooting" in "The
Badminton Library," Mr. Clive Phillipps-Wolley writes of the largest
"grizzly" of which he has any trustworthy information as being shot on
Kadiak island by a Mr. J.C. Tolman. These were the only authentic
records I could find of bears of this species which had fallen to the
rifle of an amateur sportsman.

After spending two months in southern Alaska, I determined to visit the
Kadiak Islands in pursuit of this bear. I reached my destination the
latter part of June, and three days later had started on my shooting
expedition with native hunters. Unfortunately I had come too late in the
season. The grass had shot up until it was shoulder high, making it most
difficult to see at any distance the game I was after.

The result of this, my first hunt, was that I actually saw but three
bear, and got but one shot, which, I am ashamed to record, was a miss.
Tracks there were in plenty along the salmon streams, and some of these
were so large I concluded that as a sporting trophy a good example of
the Kadiak bear should equal, if not surpass, in value any other kind of
big game to be found on the North American continent. This opinion
received confirmation later when I saw the size of the skins brought in
by the natives to the two trading companies.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I sailed away from Kadiak that fall morning I determined that my hunt
was not really over, but only interrupted by the long northern winter,
and that the next spring would find me once more in pursuit of this
great bear.

It was not only with the hope of shooting a Kadiak bear that I decided
to make this second expedition, but I had become greatly interested in
the big brute, and although no naturalist myself, it was now to be my
aim to bring back to the scientists at Washington as much definite
material about him as possible. Therefore the objects of my second trip
were:

Firstly, to obtain a specimen of bear from the Island of Kadiak;
secondly, to obtain specimens of the bears found on the Alaska
Peninsula; and, lastly, to obtain, if possible, a specimen of bear from
one of the other islands of the Kadiak group. With such material I
hoped that it could at least be decided definitely if all the bears of
the Kadiak Islands are of one species; if all the bears on the Alaska
Peninsula are of one species; and also if the Kadiak bear is found on
the mainland, for there are unquestionably many points of similarity
between the bears of the Kadiak Islands and those of the Alaska
Peninsula. It was also my plan, if I was successful in all these
objects, to spend the fall on the Kenai Peninsula in pursuit of the
white sheep and the moose.

Generally I have made it a point to go alone on all big-game shooting
trips, but on this journey I was fortunate in having as companion an old
college friend, Robert P. Blake.

My experience of the year before was of value in getting our outfit
together. At almost all points in Alaska most of the necessary
provisions can be bought, but I should rather advise one to take all but
the commonest necessities with him, for frequently the stocks at the
various trading posts run low. For this reason we took with us from
Seattle sufficient provisions to last us six months, and from time to
time, as necessity demanded, added to our stores. As the rain falls
almost daily in much of the coast country, we made it a point to supply
ourselves liberally with rubber boots and rain-proof clothing.

On the 6th of March, 1901, we sailed from Seattle on one of the monthly
steamers, and arrived at Kadiak eleven days later. I shall not attempt
to describe this beautiful island, but shall merely say that Kadiak is
justly termed the "garden spot of Alaska." It has numerous deep bays
which cut into the land many miles. These bays in turn have arms which
branch out in all directions, and the country adjacent to these latter
is the natives' favorite hunting ground for bear.

[Illustration: LOADED BAIDARKA--BARABARA--BASE OF SUPPLIES, ALASKA
PENINSULA.]

In skin canoes (baidarkas) the Aleuts, paddling along the shore, keep a
sharp lookout on the nearby hillsides, where the bears feed upon the
young and tender grass. It was our plan to choose the most likely one of
these big bays as our shooting grounds, and hunt from a baidarka,
according to local custom.

It may be well to explain here that the different localities of Alaska
are distinctly marked by the difference in the canoes which the natives
use. In the southern part, where large trees are readily obtained, you
find large dugouts capable of holding from five to twenty persons. At
Yakutat, where the timber is much smaller, the canoes, although still
dugouts, have decreased proportionately in size, but from Yakutat
westward the timber line becomes lower and lower, until the western half
of the island of Kadiak is reached, where the trees disappear
altogether, and the dugout gives place to the skin canoe or baidarka. I
have never seen them east of Prince William Sound, but from this point
on to the west they are in universal use among the Aleuts--a most
interesting race of people, and a most wonderful boat.

The natives of Kadiak are locally called Aleuts, but the true Aleuts are
not found east of the Aleutian Islands. The cross between the Aleut and
white--principally Russian--is known as the "Creole."

The natives whom I met on the Kadiak Islands seemed to show traces of
Japanese descent, for they resembled these people both in size and
features. I found them of docile disposition, remarkable hunters and
weather prophets, and most expert in handling their wonderful canoes,
with which I always associate them.

The baidarka is made with a light frame of some strong elastic wood,
covered with seal or sea lion skin; not a nail is used in making the
frame, but all the various parts are tied firmly together with sinew or
stout twine. This allows a slight give, for the baidarka is expected to
yield to every wave, and in this lies its strength. There may be one,
two, or three round hatches, according to the size of the boat. In these
the occupants kneel, and, sitting on their heels, ply their
sharp-pointed paddles; all paddling at the same time on the same side,
and then all changing in unison to the other side at the will of the
bowman, who sets a rapid stroke. In rough water, kamlaykas--large shirts
made principally of stretched and dried bear gut--are worn, and these
are securely fastened around the hatches. In this way the Aleuts and the
interior of the baidarka remain perfectly dry, no matter how much the
sea breaks and passes over the skin deck.

I had used the baidarka the year before, having made a trip with my
hunters almost around the island of Afognak, and believed it to be an
ideal boat to hunt from. It is very speedy, easily paddled, floats low
in the water, will hold much camp gear, and, when well handled, is most
seaworthy. So it was my purpose this year to again use one in skirting
the shores of the deep bays, and in looking for bears, which show
themselves in the early spring upon the mountain sides, or roam the
beach in search of kelp.

The Kadiak bear finds no trouble in getting all the food he wants during
the berry season and during the run of the various kinds of salmon,
which lasts from June until October. At this period he fattens up, and
upon this fat he lives through his long winter sleep. When he wakes in
the spring he is weak and hardly able to move, so his first aim is to
recover the use of his legs. This he does by taking short walks when the
weather is pleasant, returning to his den every night. This light
exercise lasts for a week or so, when he sets out to feed upon the beach
kelp, which acts as a purge. He now lives upon roots, principally of the
salmon-berry bush, and later nibbles the young grass.

These carry him along until the salmon arrive, when he becomes
exclusively a fish eater until the berries are ripe. I have been told by
the natives that just before he goes into his den he eats berries only,
and his stomach is now so filled with fat that he really eats but
little.

The time when the bears go into their winter quarters depends upon the
severity of the season. Generally it is in early November, shortly
after the cold weather has set in. Most bears sleep uninterruptedly
until spring, but they are occasionally found wandering about in
mid-winter. My natives seemed to think that only those bears are
restless which have found uncomfortable quarters, and that they leave
their dens at this time of year solely for the purpose of finding better
ones. They generally choose for their dens caves high up on the mountain
sides among the rocks and in remote places where they are not likely to
be discovered. The same winter quarters are believed to be used year
after year.

The male, or bull bear, is the first to come out in the spring. As soon
as he recovers the use of his muscles he leaves his den for good and
wanders aimlessly about until he comes upon the track of some female. He
now persistently follows her, and it is at this time that the rutting
season of the Kadiak bear begins, the period lasting generally from the
middle of April until July.

In Eagle Harbor, on Kadiak Island, a native, three years ago, during the
month of January, saw a female bear which he killed near her den. He
then went into the cave and found two very small cubs whose eyes were
not yet open. This would lead to the belief that this species of bear
brings forth its young about the beginning of the new year. At birth the
cubs are very small, weighing but little more than a pound and a half,
and there are from one to four in a litter. Two, however, is the usual
number. The mother, although in a state of semi-torpor, suckles these
cubs in the den, and they remain with her all that year, hole up with
her the following winter, and continue to follow her until the second
fall, when they leave her and shift for themselves.

For many years these bears have been so persistently hunted by the
natives, who are constantly patrolling the shores in their skin canoes,
that their knowledge of man and their senses of smell and hearing are
developed to an extreme degree. They have, however, like most bears,
but indifferent sight. They range in color from a light tawny lion to a
very dark brown; in fact, I have seen some bears that were almost
black. Many people have asked me about their size, and how they compare
in this respect with other bears. The Kadiak bear is naturally extremely
large. His head is very massive, and he stands high at the shoulders.
This latter characteristic is emphasized by a thick tuft of hair which
stands erect on the dorsal ridge just over the shoulders. The largest
bear of this kind which I shot measured 8 feet in a straight line from
his nose to the end of the vertebrae, and stood 51-1/2 inches in a
straight line at the shoulders, not including between 6 and 7 inches of
hair.

Most people have an exaggerated idea of the number of bears on the
Kadiak Islands. Personally I believe that they are too few ever to make
shooting them popular. In fact, it was only by the hardest kind of
careful and constant work that I was finally successful in bagging my
first bear on Kadiak. When the salmon come it is not so difficult to get
a shot, but this lying in wait at night by a salmon stream cannot
compare with seeking out the game on the hills in the spring, and
stalking it in a sportsmanlike manner.

It was more than a week after our landing at Kadiak before the weather
permitted me to go to Afognak, where my old hunters lived, to make our
final preparations. One winter storm after another came in quick
succession, but we did not mind the delay, for we had come early and did
not expect the bears would leave their dens before April.

I decided to take with me on my hunt the same two natives whom I had had
the year before. My head man's name was Fedor Deerinhoff. He was about
forty years of age, and had been a noted sea otter and bear hunter. In
size he was rather larger than the average of his race, and absolutely
fearless. Many stories are told of his hand-to-hand encounters with
these big bears. I think the best one is of a time when he crawled into
a den on his hands and knees, and in the dark, and at close quarters,
shot three. He was unable to see, and the bears' heavy breathing was his
only guide in taking aim.

Nikolai Pycoon, my other native, was younger and shorter in stature, and
had also a great reputation as a hunter, which later I found was fully
justified, and furthermore was considered the best baidarka man of
Afognak. He was a nice little fellow, always good natured, always keen,
always willing, and the only native whom I have ever met with a true
sense of gratitude.

The year before I had made all arrangements to hire for this season a
small schooner, which was to take us to our various shooting grounds. I
was now much disappointed to find that the owner of this schooner had
decided not to charter her. We were, therefore, obliged to engage a very
indifferent sloop, but she was fortunately an excellent sea boat. Her
owner, Charles Payjaman, a Russian, went with us as my friend's
hunter. He was a fisherman and a trapper by profession, and had the
reputation of knowing these dangerous island waters well. His knowledge
of Russian we expected to be of great use to us in dealing with the
natives; Alaska was under Russian control for so many years that that
language is the natural local tongue.

It was the first of April before we got our entire outfit together, and
it was not until four days later that the weather permitted us to hoist
our sail and start for the shooting grounds, of which it was of the
utmost importance that we should make good choice. All the natives
seemed to agree that Kiliuda Bay, some seventy-five miles below the town
of Kadiak, was the most likely place to find bear, and so we now headed
our boat in that direction. It was a most beautiful day for a start,
with the first faint traces of spring in the air. As we skirted the
shore that afternoon I sighted, through the glasses, on some low hills
in the distance, bear tracks in the snow. My Aleuts seemed to think that
the bears were probably near, having come down to the shore in search of
kelp. It promised a pretty fair chance for a shot, but there was
exceedingly bad water about, and no harbor for the sloop to lie, so
Payjaman and my natives advised me not to make the attempt. As one
should take no chances with Alaskan waters, I felt that this was wise,
and we reluctantly passed on.

The next forenoon we put into a large bay, Eagle Harbor, to pick up a
local hunter who was to accompany us to Kiliuda Bay, for both my Aleuts
and the Russian were unacquainted with this locality. Ignati
Chowischpack, the native whose services we secured, was quite a
character, a man of much importance among the Aleuts of this district,
and one who had a thorough knowledge of the country chosen as a hunting
ground.

We expected to remain at Eagle Harbor only part of the day, but
unfortunately were storm-bound here for a week. Several times we
attempted to leave, but each time had to put back, fearing that the
heavy seas we encountered outside would crush in the baidarka, which was
carried lashed to the sloop's deck. It was not until early on the
morning of April 12, just as the sun was topping the mountains, that we
finally reached Kiliuda Bay.

Our hunting grounds now stretched before us as far as the eye could
see. We had by this time passed the tree area, and it was only here and
there in isolated spots that stunted cottonwoods bordered the salmon
streams and scattered patches of alders dotted the mountain sides. In
many places the land rolled gradually back from the shore until the
mountain bases were reached, while in other parts giant cliffs rose
directly from the water's edge, but with the glasses one could generally
command a grand view of this great irregular bay, with its long arms
cutting into the island in all directions.

We made our permanent camp in a large barabara, a form of house so often
seen in western Alaska that it deserves a brief description. It is a
small, dome-shaped hut, with a frame generally made of driftwood, and
thatched with sods and the rank grass of the country. It has no windows,
but a large hole in the roof permits light to enter and serves also as
an outlet for the smoke from the fire, which is built on a rough hearth
in the middle of the barabara. These huts, their doors never locked,
offer shelter to anyone, and are frequently found in the most remote
places. The one which we now occupied was quite large, with ample space
to stow away our various belongings, and we made ourselves most
comfortable, while our Aleuts occupied the small banya, or Russian
bathhouse, which is also generally found by the side of the
barabara. This was to be the base of supplies from which my friend and I
were to hunt in different directions.

The morning after reaching our shooting grounds I started with one of my
natives and the local hunter in the baidarka to get the lay of the
land. Blake and I agreed that it was wise to divide up the country, both
because we could thus cover a much greater territory, and our modes of
hunting differed materially. Although at the time I believed from what I
had heard that Payjaman was an excellent man, I preferred to hunt in a
more careful manner, as is the native custom, in which I had had some
experience the year before. I firmly believe that had Payjaman hunted
as carefully as my Aleuts did, my friend would have been more
successful.

We spent our first day skirting the shores of the entire bay, paddling
up to its very head. Ignati pointed out to Fedor all the most likely
places, and explained the local eccentricities of the various winds--a
knowledge of these being of the first importance in bear hunting. I was
much pleased with the looks of the country, but at the same time was
disappointed to find that in the inner bays there was no trace of
spring, and that the snow lay deep even on the shores down to the high
water mark. Not a bear's track was to be seen, and it was evident that
we were on the grounds ahead of time.

We stopped for tea and lunch about noon at the head of the bay. Near by
a long and narrow arm of water extended inland some three miles, and it
was the country lying adjacent to this and to the head of the bay that I
decided to choose as my hunting grounds.

We had a hard time to reach camp that night, for a severe storm suddenly
burst upon us, and a fierce wind soon swept down from the hills, kicking
up a heavy sea which continually swept over the baidarka's deck, and
without kamlaykas on we surely should have swamped. It grew bitterly
cold, and a blinding snow storm made it impossible to see any distance
ahead, but Ignati knew these waters well, and safely, but half frozen,
we reached the main camp just at dark.

Next day the storm continued, and it was impossible to venture out. My
friend and I passed the time playing piquet, and listening to our
natives, who talked earnestly together, going over many of their strange
and thrilling hunting experiences. We understood but little Russian and
Aleut, yet their expressive gestures made it quite possible to catch the
drift of what was being said. It seemed that Ignati had had a brother
killed a few years ago, while bear hunting in the small bay which lies
between Eagle Harbor and Kiliuda Bay. The man came upon a bear, which
he shot and badly wounded. Accompanied by a friend he followed up the
blood trail, which led into a thick patch of alders. Suddenly he came
upon a large unwounded male bear which charged him unprovoked, and at
such close quarters that he was unable to defend himself. Before his
companion, who was but a short distance away, could reach him, he was
killed. The bear frightfully mangled the body, holding it down with his
feet and using his teeth to tear it apart.

Ignati at once started out to avenge his brother, and killed in quick
succession six bears, allowing their bodies to remain as a warning to
the other bears, not even removing their skins.

During the past few years three men while hunting have been killed by
bears in the same vicinity as Ignati's brother, two instantly, and one
living but a short time. I think it is from these accidents that the
natives in this region have a superstitious dread of a "long-tailed
bear" which they declare roams the hills between Eagle Harbor and
Kiliuda Bay.

The storm which began on the 13th continued until the 17th, and this was
but one of a series. Winter seemed to come back in all its fury, and I
believe that whatever bears had left their winter dens went back to them
for another sleep. It was not until the middle of May that the snow
began to disappear, and spring with its green grass came.

All this time I was camped with my natives at the head of the bay, some
fifteen miles from our base of supplies. On the 23d of April we first
sighted tracks, but it was not until May 15 that I finally succeeded in
bagging my first bear.

The tracks in the snow indicated that the bears began again to come out
of their winter dens the last week in April; and should one wish to make
a spring hunt on the Kadiak Islands, the first of May would, I should
judge, be a good time to arrive at the shooting grounds.

When the wind was favorable, our mode of hunting was to leave camp
before daylight, and paddle in our baidarka up to the head of one of
these long bays, and, leaving our canoe here, trudge over the snow to
some commanding elevation, where we constantly used the glasses upon the
surrounding hillsides, hoping to see bear. We generally returned to camp
a little before noon, but in the afternoon returned to the lookout,
where we remained until it was too dark to see.

When the wind was blowing into these valleys we did not hunt, for we
feared that whatever bears might be around would get our scent and
quickly leave. New bears might come, but none which had once scented us
would remain. For days at a time we were storm-bound, and unable to
hunt, or even leave our little tent, where frequently we were obliged to
remain under blankets both day and night to keep warm.

On May 15, by 4 o'clock, I had finished a hurried breakfast, and with my
two Aleuts had left in the baidarka for our daily watching place. This
was a large mound lying in the center of a valley, some three miles from
where we were camped. On the right of the mound rose a gently sloping
hill with its sides sparsely covered with alders, and at right angles
and before it, extended a rugged mountain ridge with rocky sides
stretching all across our front, while to the left rose another towering
mountain ridge with steep and broken sides. All the surrounding hills
and much of the low country were covered with deep snow. The mountains
on three sides completely hemmed in the valley, and their snowy slopes
gave us an excellent chance to distinguish all tracks. Such were the
grounds which I had been watching for over a month whenever the wind was
favorable.

The sun was just topping the long hill to our right as we reached our
elevated watching place. The glasses were at once in use, and soon an
exclamation from one of my natives told me that new tracks were
seen. There they were--two long unbroken lines leading down from the
mountain on our right, across the valley, and up and out of sight over
the ridge to our left. It seemed as if two bears had simply wandered
across our front, and crossed over the range of mountains into the bay
beyond.

As soon as my hunters saw these tracks they turned to me, and, with
every confidence, said: "I guess catch." Now, it must be remembered that
these tracks led completely over the mountains to our left, and it was
the most beautiful bit of hunting on the part of my natives to know that
these bears would turn and swing back into the valley ahead. To follow
the tracks, which were well up in the heart of our shooting grounds,
would give our wind to all the bears that might be lurking there, and
this my hunters knew perfectly well, yet they never hesitated for one
moment, but started ahead with every confidence.

We threaded our way through a mass of thick alders to the head of the
valley, and then climbing a steep mountain took our stand on a rocky
ridge which commanded a wide view ahead and to our left in the direction
in which the tracks led. We had only been in our new position half an
hour when Nikolai, my head hunter, gripped my arm and pointed high up on
the mountain in the direction in which we had been watching. There I
made out a small black speck, which to the naked eye appeared but a bit
of dark rock protruding through the snow. Taking the glasses I made out
a large bear slowly floundering ahead, and evidently coming
downward. His coat seemed very dark against the white background, and he
was unquestionably a bull of great size. Shortly after I had the
satisfaction of seeing a second bear, which the first was evidently
following. This was, without doubt, a female, by no means so large as
the first, and much lighter in color. The smaller bear was apparently
hungry, and it was interesting to watch her dig through the snow in
search of food. Soon she headed down the mountain side, paying
absolutely no attention to the big male, which slowly followed some
distance in the rear. Shortly she reached a rocky cliff which it seemed
impossible that such a clumsy animal could descend, and I almost
despaired of her making the attempt, but without a pause she wound in
and out, seemingly traversing the steepest and most difficult places in
the easiest manner, and headed for the valley below. When the bull
reached this cliff we lost sight of him; nor could we locate him again
with even the most careful use of the glasses. He had evidently chosen
this secure retreat to lie up in for the rest of the day. If I could
have killed the female without alarming him, and then waited on her
trail, I should undoubtedly have got another shot, as he followed her
after his rest.

It was 8 o'clock when we first located the bears, and for nearly three
hours I had a chance to watch one or both of them through powerful
glasses. The sun had come up clear and strong, melting the crust upon
the snow, so that as soon as the female bear reached the steep mountain
side her downward path was not an easy one. At each step she would sink
up to her belly, and at times would slip and fall, turning somersault
after somersault; now and again she would be buried in the snow so deep
that it seemed impossible for her to go either ahead or backward. Then
she would roll over on her back, and, loosening her hold on the steep
hillside, would come tumbling and slipping down, turning over and over,
sideways and endways, until she caught herself by spreading out all four
legs. In this way she came with each step and turn nearer and
nearer. Finally she reached an open patch on the hillside, where she
began to feed, digging up the roots of the salmon-berry bushes at the
edge of the snow. If now I lost sight of her for a short time, it was
very difficult to pick her up again even with the glasses, so perfectly
did the light tawny yellows and browns of her coat blend in with the
dead grass of the place on which she was feeding.

The wind had been blowing in our favor all the morning, and for once
continued true and steady. But how closely we watched the clouds, to
see that no change in its direction threatened us.

We waited until the bear had left the snow and was quietly feeding
before we made a move, and then we slowly worked ahead and downward,
taking up a new position on a small ridge which was well to leeward, but
still on the opposite side of the valley from the bear. She seemed in an
excellent position for a stalk, and had I been alone I should have tried
it. But the Aleut mode of hunting is to study the direction in which
your game is working, and then take up a position which it will
naturally approach.

Taking our stand, we waited, watching with much interest the great
ungainly creature as she kept nibbling the young grass and digging up
roots. At times she would seem to be heading in our direction, and then
again would turn and slowly feed away. Suddenly something seemed to
alarm her, for she made a dash of some fifty yards down the valley, and
then, seeming to recover her composure, began to feed again, all the
while working nearer and nearer. The bear was now well down in the
bottom of the valley, which was at this point covered with alders and
intersected by a small stream. There were open patches in the
underbrush, and it was my intention to shoot when she passed through one
of these, for the ground was covered with over a foot of snow, which
would offer a very tempting background.

While all this was passing quickly through my mind, she suddenly made
another bolt down the valley, and, when directly opposite our position,
turned at right angles, crossed the brook, and came straight through the
alders into the open, not eighty yards away from us. As she made her
appearance I could not help being greatly impressed by the massive head
and high shoulders on which stood the pronounced tuft of hair. I had
most carefully seen to my sights long before, for I knew how much would
probably depend on my first shot. It surely seemed as if fortune was
with me that day, as at last I had a fair chance at the game I had come
so far to seek. Aiming with the greatest care for the lungs and heart, I
slowly pressed the trigger. The bear gave a deep, angry growl, and bit
for the wound,[4] which told me my bullet was well placed; but she kept
her feet and made a dash for the thicket. I was well above, and so
commanded a fairly clear view as she crashed through the leafless
alders. Twice more I fired, and each time with the most careful aim. At
the last shot she dropped with an angry moan. My hunters shook my hand,
and their faces told me how glad they were at my final success after so
many long weeks of persistent work. Including the time spent last year
and this year, this bear represented eighty-seven days of actual
hunting.

[Footnote 4: When a bullet strikes a Kadiak bear, he will always bite
for the wound and utter a deep and angry growl; whereas of the eleven
bears which my friend and I shot on the Alaska peninsula, although they,
too, bit for the wound, not one uttered a sound.]

I at once started down to look at the bear, when out upon the mountain
opposite the bull was seen. He had heard the shots and was now once
more but a moving black speck on the snow, but it will always be a
mystery to me how he could have heard the three reports of my small-bore
rifle so far away and against a strong wind. My natives suggested that
the shots must have echoed, and in this I think they were right; but
even then it shows how abnormally the sense of hearing has been
developed in these bears.

I was sorry to find that the small-bore rifle did not give as great a
shock as I had expected, for my first two bullets had gone through the
bear's lungs and heart without knocking her off her feet.

The bear was a female, as we had supposed, but judging from what my
natives said, only of medium size. She measured 6 feet 4 inches in a
straight line between the nose and the end of the vertebrae, and 44-5/8
inches at the shoulders. The fur was in prime condition, and of an
average length of 4-1/2 inches, but over the shoulders the mane was two
inches longer. Unfortunately, as in many of the spring skins, there was
a large patch over the rump apparently much rubbed. The general belief
is that these worn patches are made by the bears sliding down hill on
their haunches on the snow; but my natives have a theory that this is
caused by the bears' pelt freezing to their dens and being torn off when
they wake from their winter's sleep.

Although this female was not large for a Kadiak bear, as was proved by
one I shot later in the season, I was much pleased with my final
success, and our camp that night was quite a merry one.

Shortly after killing this bear, Blake and I returned to the trading
post at Wood Island to prepare for a new hunt, this time to the Alaska
Peninsula.




II.


BEAR HUNTING ON THE ALASKA PENINSULA

The year before I had chanced to meet an old pilot who had the
reputation of knowing every nook and corner of the Alaskan coast. He
told me several times of the great numbers of bears that he had often
seen in a certain bay on the Alaska Peninsula, and advised me most
strongly to try this place. We now determined to visit this bay in a
good sized schooner we had chartered from the North American Commercial
Company.

There were numerous delays in getting started, but finally, on May 31,
we set sail, and in two days were landed at our new shooting
grounds. Rarely in modern days does it fall to the lot of amateurs to
meet with better sport than we had for the next month.

The schooner landed us with our natives, two baidarkas, and all our
provisions, near the mouth of the harbor. Here we made our base of
supplies, and the next morning in our two canoes started with our
hunters to explore this wonderful bay. At high tide Chinitna Bay extends
inland some fifteen miles, but at low water is one vast bog of glacial
deposit. Rugged mountains rise on all sides, and at the base of these
mountains there are long meadows which extend out to the high water
mark. In these meadows during the month of June the bears come to feed
upon the young and tender salt grass.

There was a long swell breaking on the beach as we left our base of
supplies, but we passed safely through the line of breakers to the
smooth waters beyond, and now headed for the upper bay. The two
baidarkas kept side by side, and Blake and I chatted together, but all
the while kept the glasses constantly fixed upon the hillsides. We had
hardly gone a mile before a small black bear was sighted; but the wind
was unfavorable, and he got our scent before we could land. This looked
decidedly encouraging, and we continued on in the best of spirits. About
mid-day we went on shore, lunched, and then basked in the sun until the
afternoon, when we again got into the baidarkas and paddled further up
the bay to a place where a wide meadow extends out from the base of the
mountains. Here Nikolai, my head hunter, went on shore with the
glasses, and raising himself cautiously above the bank, took a long look
at the country beyond. It was at once quite evident that he had seen
something, and we all joined him, keeping well hidden from view. There,
out upon the marsh, could be seen two large bears feeding upon the young
grass. They seemed in an almost unapproachable position, and we lay and
watched them, hoping that they would move into a more advantageous
place. After an hour or so they fed back toward the trees, and soon
passed out of sight.

We matched to see which part of the meadow each should watch, and it
fell to my lot to go further up the marsh. I had been only a short time
in this place when a new bear came into sight. We now made a most
beautiful stalk right across the open to within a hundred yards. All
this while a new dog, which I had bought at Kadiak and called Stereke,
had crawled with us flat on his stomach, trembling all over with
excitement as he watched the bear. I had plenty of time to take aim, and
was in no way excited, but missed clean at one hundred yards. At the
report of my rifle Stereke bit himself clear from Nikolai, who was
holding him, and at once made for the bear, which he tackled in a most
encouraging manner, nipping his heels, and then quickly getting out of
the way as the bear charged. But I found that one dog was not enough to
hold these bears, and this one got safely away.

It was a dreary camp that night, for I had missed an easy shot without a
shadow of excuse. We pitched our small tent at the extreme edge of the
marsh behind a large mass of rocks. I turned in thoroughly depressed,
but awoke the next morning refreshed, and determined to retrieve my
careless shooting of the day before. A bad surf breaking on the beach
prevented our going further up the bay in our baidarkas, as we had
planned to do. We loafed in the sun until evening, while our natives
kept constant watch of the great meadow where we had seen the bears the
day before. We had just turned in, although at ten o'clock it was still
daylight, when one of the natives came running up to say that a bear was
in sight, so Blake, with three natives and Stereke, made the stalk. I
had a beautiful chance to watch it from the high rocks beside our
camp. The men were able to approach to within some fifty yards, and
Blake, with his first shot, hit, and with his third killed the bear
before it could get into the brush. Stereke, when loosed, acted in a
gallant manner, and tackled the bear savagely.

Unfortunately no measurements were taken, but the bear appeared to be
somewhat smaller than the female I killed at Kiliuda Bay, and weighed, I
should judge, some 450 pounds. It appeared higher on the legs and less
massive than the Kadiak bear, and had a shorter mane, but was of much
the same tawny color on the back, although darker on the legs and belly.

Two days later we set out from our camp behind the rocks and paddled a
short distance up the bay.

Here we left the baidarkas and crossed a large meadow without sighting
bear. We then followed some miles the banks of a small stream. Leaving
my friend with his two men, I pushed ahead with my natives to
investigate the country beyond. But the underbrush was so dense it was
impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. We had gone some
distance, and Fedor and I had just crossed a deep stream on a rickety
fallen tree, while the other native was following, when I chanced to
look back and saw a small black bear just opposite. He must have smelt
us, and, wanting to see what sort of creature man was, had deliberately
followed up our tracks. Nikolai had my rifle on the other side of the
brook, so I snatched up Fedor's and twice tried to shoot; but the safety
bolt would not work, and when I had it adjusted the bear showed only one
shoulder beyond a tree. It was just drawing back when I pressed the
trigger. The bullet grazed the tree, was deflected, and a patch of hair
was all that I had for what promised the surest of shots.

In the afternoon we made for a place which our hunters declared was a
sure find for bear; but unlike most "sure places," we sighted our game
even before we reached the ground. There they were, two large grizzled
brutes, feeding on the salt marsh grass like two cows. We made a most
exciting approach in our baidarkas, winding in and out, across the open,
up a small lagoon which cut into the meadow where the bears were
feeding. We got to within two hundred yards when they became suspicious,
but could not quite make us out. One now rose on his hind legs to get a
better view, and offered a beautiful chance, but I waited for my friend,
whose turn it was to have first shot, and he delayed, thinking that I
was not ready. The result was that the bears at once made for the woods,
and we both missed.

Stereke again did his part well, catching one of the bears and tackling
him in a noble manner, turning him and doing his best to hold him, but
this was more than one dog could do, and the bear broke away and soon
reached cover.

I am glad to record that with this day's miss ended some of the most
careless shooting I have ever done.

This evening we made our camp on the beach on the other side of the
bay. I was up frequently during the night, for bears were constantly
moving about on the mountain side just behind our sleeping place, but
although I could distinctly hear them, the thick brush prevented my
getting a shot.

In this latitude there is practically no night during the month of June,
and I can recall no more enchanting spot than where we were now camped.
Even my hard day's work would not bring sleep, and I lay with my
faithful dog at my feet and gazed on the vast mountains about us, their
summits capped with snow, while their sides were clothed in the dull
velvet browns of last year's herbage, through which the vivid greens of
a northern summer were rapidly forcing themselves.

It was after five next morning when we left in our two baidarkas for the
extreme head of the bay, where there was another vast meadow. My friend
chose to hunt the right side of this marsh, while I took the left.

On reaching our watching place I settled myself for the day in my fur
rug, and soon dozed off to finish my night's rest, while my men took
turns with the glasses. About ten o'clock a black bear was sighted a
long way off, but he soon wandered into the thicket which surrounded the
marsh on three sides. At twelve o'clock he appeared again, and we now
circled well to leeward and waited where two trails met at the edge of
the meadow, expecting the bear would work down one of them to us. It was
a long tiresome wait, for we were perched upon some tussocks through
which the water soon found its way. About five o'clock we returned to
our original watching place, where my friend joined me.

The wind had been at a slant, and although we had worked safely around
the bear, he must have got the scent of Blake's party, although a long
way off, for my friend reported that the bear was coming in our
direction, as we had counted upon, when he suddenly threw up his head,
gave one whiff, and started for the woods.

On Friday morning, June 7, we made a three o'clock start from where we
had passed the night on the beach. The sun was not over the mountains
for another hour, and there was that great charm which comes in the
early dawn of a summer's day. Blake in his baidarka, and I in mine,
paddled along, side by side, and pushed up to the extreme head of the
bay, where we came upon an old deserted Indian camp of the year before.
Numerous stretchers told of their success with bear; but the remains of
an old fire in the very heart of our shooting grounds warned us that in
this section the bears might have been disturbed; for the Alaskan bear
is very wary, and is quick to take alarm at any unusual scent. We came
back to our camp on the beach by ten o'clock, and had our first
substantial meal of the day; for we had now adopted the Aleutian habit
of taking simply a cup of tea and a piece of bread in order to make the
earliest of starts each morning.

After our mid-day breakfast, we usually took a nap until afternoon; but
this day I was not sleepy, and so read for a while, then I loaded my
rifle, which I always kept within arm's reach, and was just settling my
rugs to turn in, when Stereke gave a sharp bark, and Blake shouted,
"Bear." Seizing my rifle I looked up, and walking toward us on the
beach, just 110 yards away, was a good sized bull bear. My dog at once
made for him, while Blake jumped for his rifle. The bear was just
turning when I fired. He bit for the wound, but uttered no sound, and
was just disappearing in the brush when I fired a hasty second; Blake
and I followed into the thick alders after the dog, which was savagely
attacking the bear. His barking told us where the bear was, and I
arrived just in time to see him make a determined charge at the dog,
which quickly avoided him, and just as quickly renewed the attack.

I forced my way through the alders and got in two close shots, which
rolled him over. It appeared that my first shot had broken his shoulder,
as well as cut the lower portion of the heart; but this bear had gone
some fifty yards, and was still on his feet, when I came up and finished
him off. He was a fair sized bull, six feet two inches in a straight
line along the vertebrae, and stood exactly three feet at the
shoulders. He had evidently been fighting, for one ear was badly torn,
and his skin was much scarred with old and recent wounds. After
removing the pelt the carcass was thrown into the bay, so that there
might be no stench, which my natives declared would be enough to spoil
any future shooting in this locality. This same afternoon we moved our
camp to a new marsh, but the wind was changeable, and we saw nothing.

The next morning we sighted a bear, which fed into the woods before we
had time to come up with him. Shortly after five o'clock the brute made
a second appearance, but as the wind had changed and now blew in the
wrong direction, a stalk could not be made without our scent being
carried into the woods, where many bears were apt to be. We made it a
great point never to make a stalk unless the wind was right, for we were
extremely anxious not to spoil the place by diffusing our scent, and
driving away whatever bears might be lurking near. Therefore, many times
we had a chance to watch bears at only a few hundred yards' distance.

It was most interesting to see how careful these big animals were, and
how, from time to time, they would feel the wind with their noses, and
again stop feeding and listen. No two bears seemed to be built on quite
the same lines. Some were high at the shoulders and then sloped down
toward the rump and nose; and again, others were saddle-backed; still
others stood with their front feet directly under them, making a regular
curve at the shoulders; while others had the front legs wide apart, and
seemed to form a triangle, the apex of which was at the shoulders.

Their range of color seemed to be from very dark, silver-tipped, to a
very light dirty yellow, but with dark legs and belly.

This evening, just as we were having our tea, another bear made his
appearance. The first, which we had been watching, evidently heard him
coming through the woods, and as the second came out into the open the
former vanished. The new one was a dirty yellowish white, with very dark
belly and legs, which gave him a most comical appearance.

The wind still continued unfavorable, and my friend and I passed an
extremely interesting evening with the glasses, for this watching game,
especially bear, gives me almost as much pleasure as making the actual
stalk.

About ten o'clock the wind changed, and Blake went after the bear, but
unfortunately missed at about one hundred yards.

The following day opened dull, and we spent the morning keeping a sharp
watch on the marsh. About ten o'clock a large bear was seen to come out
from the trees. The wind was wrong, and as the bear was in an
unapproachable position I had to sit with folded arms and watch him. I
used the glasses with much interest until shortly after four o'clock,
when he slowly fed into the brush.

We had just finished supper when we saw another bear in a better
position, and I proceeded to make the stalk, going part of the way in
the baidarka, for the great meadow was intersected by a stream from
which small lagoons made off in all directions. The wind was very
baffling, and although we successfully reached a clump of brush in the
middle of the marsh, the bear for some time continued to graze in an
unapproachable spot. We had almost given up hope of getting a shot,
when he turned and fed slowly some fifty yards in a new direction, which
was up-wind. This was our chance. Quickly regaining the baidarka, we
paddled as noiselessly and rapidly as possible up the main stream of the
marsh to a small lagoon, which now at high tide had sufficient water to
float us.

There was great charm in stalking game in this manner, although I was,
in a sense, but a passenger in my natives' hands. But it was fascinating
to watch their keenness and skill as they guided the frail craft round
the sharp turns, the noiseless use of the paddles, the light in their
eye as they constantly stood up in the canoe to keep a hidden gaze upon
the game ahead, watching its every movement as well as the local eddies
and currents in the light evening breeze. All was so in keeping with the
sombre leaden clouds overhead, and the grizzled sides of the ungainly
brute, blending in with the background of weather-beaten tree trunks and
the dull gray rocks. And so, silently and swiftly, stopping many times
when the bear's head was up, we approached nearer and nearer, until my
head man whispered, _Boudit_ (enough), and I knew that I was to
have a fair shot. Stealthily raising my head above the bank I saw the
bear feeding, only seventy-five yards away. Creeping cautiously out of
the boat I lay flat upon my stomach, rifle cocked and ready, waiting for
a good shot. Soon it came. The bear heard some sound in the forest, and
raised his head. Now was my chance, and the next second he dropped
without a sound; he struggled to rise, but I could see he was anchored
with a broken shoulder. My men were unable to restrain themselves any
longer, and as I shot for the second time, their rifles cracked just
after mine. We now rushed up to close quarters. The bear, shot through
the lungs, was breathing heavily and rapidly choking.

Suddenly I heard a yap, and then, out over the marsh, came Stereke at
full speed. I had left him with my friend, as we thought we might have
to do some delicate stalking across the open. He had sighted the bear,
and watched our approach all a-tremble, and at the report of my rifle
there was no holding him. Over the ground he came in great bounds, and
arrived just in time to give the bear a couple of shakes before he
breathed his last. We carried the entire carcass to the baidarka, and
even the cartridge shells were taken away, to avoid tainting the place
with an unusual scent.

The next day we returned to the main camp, for Fedor, who was ill, had
become very weak, and was in no condition to stand any hardships. We
left him at the main camp in care of Payjaman. He was greatly
depressed, and seemed to give way completely, frequently saying that he
never expected to see his home again. Knowing the Aleut's character so
well, I much feared that his mental state might work fatal results. Our
medicines were of the simplest, and there was but little we could
do. Fortunately he did recover, but it was not until two weeks later,
when our hunt was nearly over, that he began to get better.

Three days afterward we were back again at our camp behind the rocks. We
had wanted rain for some time to wash out all scent. Then again bears
are supposed to move about more freely in such weather. Therefore we
were rather pleased when the wind changed, bringing a northwest storm
which continued all the next day. The lofty mountains were rapidly
losing the snow on their summits, and the night's rain had wrought
marvels in their appearance, seeming to bring out every shade of green
on their wooded slopes. One of our natives was kept constantly on the
lookout, and a dozen times a day both Blake and I would leave our books
and climb to the watching place for a view across the great meadow. By
this time we knew the bear trails and the most tempting feeding grounds,
and the surest approaches to the game when it had once come into the
open. Therefore when I was told this evening that a bear had been
sighted, I felt pretty sure of getting a shot. He had not come well out
into the open, and was clearly keeping near cover and working parallel
to the brush. If he continued in this direction he would soon be out of
sight. Our only chance was to make a quick approach, and Nikolai and I
were immediately under way, leaving my dog with my friend, who was to
loose him in case I got a shot.

The wind was coming in great gusts across our front, and the corner
where the bear was feeding offered a dangerous place for eddies and
back-currents against the mountain side. In order to avoid these, we
kept just inside the woods. Nikolai going first showed the greatest
skill in knowing just how close to the wind we could go. We quickly
reached the place where we expected to sight the bear, but he was hidden
in the bed of the river, and it was some minutes before we could make
out the top of his head moving above the grass. Then noiselessly we
crawled up as the bear again fed slowly into view. He was now about 125
yards away, and offered an excellent shot as he paused and raised his
head to scent the breeze; but Nikolai whispered, "No," and we worked
nearer, crawling forward when the bear's head was down, and lying flat
and close when his head was up.

It is curious to note that often when game is being stalked it becomes
suspicious, although it cannot smell, hear, or see the stalker;
instinct, perhaps--call it what you will. And now this bear turned and
began moving slowly toward cover. For some time he was hidden from
view, and then, just before he would finally vanish from sight, he
paused a moment, offering a quartering shot. The lower half of his body
was concealed by the grass, but it was my last chance, and I took it,
aiming for the lungs and rather high in order to get a clear shot. I saw
as he bit for the wound that the bullet was well placed, and as he
turned and lumbered across our front, I fired two more deliberate shots,
one going through the fore leg and one breaking a hind leg.

Nikolai also fired, giving the bear a slight skin wound, and hitting the
hind leg just above where one of my bullets had previously struck. As
the bear entered the brush we both ran up, my hunter going to the left
while I went a little below to head the bear off. We soon came upon him,
and Nikolai, getting the first sight, gave him another bullet through
the lungs with my heavy rifle, and in a few moments he rolled over dead.

It was my thought always to keep a wounded bear from getting into the
brush, as the blood trail would have ruined future shooting.

I think it important to point out that when my bullet struck this bear
he bit for the wound. As he did so he was turned from his original
direction, which would have carried him in one bound out of sight among
the trees, and instead turned and galloped across our front, thereby
giving me an opportunity to fire two more shots. It frequently happened
that bears were turned from their original direction to the sides upon
which they received the first bullet, and we always gave this matter
careful consideration when making an approach.

My Aleuts were not permitted to shoot unless we were following up a
wounded bear in the thick brush; but I found it most difficult to keep
them to this rule. The large hole of the bullet from my .50-caliber which
Nikolai carried made it easy to distinguish his hits, and if a bear had
received the mortal wound from his rifle, I should not have kept the
skin.

The pelt of this bear which we had just killed was in excellent
condition, and although he was not fat, he was of fair size, measuring 6
feet 3-1/8 inches along the vertebrae.

Great care was taken as usual to pick up the empty cartridge shells, and
we pulled up the bloody bits of grass, throwing them into a brook, into
which we put also the bear's carcass.

The storm continued for several days, and was accompanied by an
unfavorable wind, which drew up into all our shooting grounds. We kept
quietly in camp, which was so situated that although we were just
opposite the great marsh, our scent was carried safely away. Then we
were most careful to have only small fires for our cooking, and we were
extremely particular to select dry wood, so that there would be as
little smoke as possible.

All this while we kept a constant watch upon the meadow, but no bears
made their appearance.

On the morning of the 19th, my friend and his hunter went up the shore
to investigate a small marsh lying a mile or so from camp. Here they saw
that the grass had been recently nibbled, and that there were fresh
signs about. They returned to this spot again that evening and sighted a
bear. The bear fed quickly up to within sixty-five yards, when Blake
rolled him over. This bear was not a large one, and was of the usual
tawny color.

The next morning a bear was seen by my natives in the big meadow by our
camp, but he did not remain long enough for a stalk. At 9:30 he again
came out into the open, and Nikolai and I made a quick approach, but the
bear, although he was not alarmed, did not wait long enough for us to
get within range. We had skirted the marsh, keeping just inside of the
thicket, and now when the bear disappeared we settled ourselves for a
long wait should he again come into the open. We were well hidden from
view, and the wind blew slanting in our faces and across our front. I
had just begun to think that we should not get a shot until the bear
came out for his evening feed, when Nikolai caught my arm and pointed
ahead. There, slowly leaving the dense edge of the woods, was a new
bear, not so large as the first, but we could see at a glance that she
had a beautiful coat of a dark silver-tip color.

Removing boots and stockings, and circling around, we came out about
seventy-five yards from where we had last seen the bear; but she had
moved a short distance ahead, and offered us a grand chance for a close
approach. Keeping behind a small point which made out into the open, we
were able to crawl up to within fifty yards, and then, waiting until the
bear's head was up, I gave her a quartering shot behind the
shoulders. She half fell, and bit for the wound, and as she slowly
started for the woods I gave her another shot which rolled her
over. This bear proved to be a female, the first we had shot upon the
mainland, probably the mate of the bear we had originally attempted to
stalk. The skin, although small, was the most beautiful I have ever
killed.

Upon examining the internal effects of my shots, I was disappointed to
find that my first bullet, on coming in contact with one of the ribs,
had torn away from the metal jacket and had expanded to, such an extent
that it lost greatly in penetration. I had of late been forced to the
conclusion that the small-bore rifle I was using on such heavy game
lacked the stopping force I had credited it with, and that the bullets
were not of sufficient weight.

The next morning I sent our men to the main camp for provisions, for we
now intended to give this marsh a rest, and go to the head of the bay.
They returned that evening, and reported that they had seen a bear on
the mountain side; they had stalked to within close range, and had made
an easy kill. They had but one rifle with them, and had taken turns,
Ivan having the first shot, while Nikolai finished the bear off. This
skin was a beautiful one, of light yellowish color, and although our men
wanted to present it to us, neither Blake nor I cared to bring it home
with the trophies we had shot.

On June 23 we turned our baidarkas' bows to the upper bay, at the head
of which we ascended a small river that wound through a vast meadow
until the stream met the mountains. Here we unloaded our simple camp
gear, and while the men prepared breakfast, Blake and I ascended an
elevation which commanded an uninterrupted view of the grassy plain. No
bears were in sight, so we had time and undisturbed opportunity to enjoy
the beauty of the scene. We lay for some time basking in the sun,
talking of books and people, and of many subjects of common
interest. Now and then one would take the glasses and scan the outskirts
of the vast meadow which stretched before us. All at once Blake gave a
low exclamation and pointed to the west. I followed the direction of his
gaze, and saw four bears slowly leaving the woods. They were at some
distance, and we did not think we had time to reach them before they
would probably return to the underbrush for their mid-day sleep, so for
the present we let them go.

After breakfast, as they were still In the same place, we attempted the
stalk, going most of the way in our baidarkas, winding in and out
through the meadow in the small lagoons which intersected it in all
directions. Every little while the men would ascend the banks with the
glasses, thus keeping a watchful eye upon the bears' movements. Taking
a time when they had fed into the underbrush, we made a quick circle to
leeward over the open, then reaching the edge of the thicket, we
approached cautiously to a selected watching place. We reached this
spot shortly after one o'clock. The bears had entered the woods, so we
settled ourselves for a long wait. It was Blake's turn to shoot, which
meant that he was to have an undisturbed first shot at the largest bear,
and after he had fired I could take what was left.

Just before three o'clock three bears again made their appearance. Two
were yearlings which in the fall would leave their mother and shift for
themselves, and one much larger, which lay just at the edge of the
underbrush. Had these yearlings not been with the mother she would not
have come out so early in the afternoon, and, as it was, she kept in the
shadow of the alders, while the two smaller ones fed out some distance
from the woods.

We now removed our boots, and, with Stereke well in hand, for he smelt
the bears and was tugging hard on his collar, noiselessly skirted the
woods, keeping some tall grass between the bears and ourselves. In this
way we approached to within one hundred yards. Twice one of the smaller
animals rose on his hind legs and looked in our direction; but the wind
was favorable, and we were well concealed, so they did not take alarm.

My friend decided to shoot the mother, while I was to reserve my fire
until after his shot. I expected that at the report of his rifle the
bear I had chosen would pause a moment in surprise, and thus offer a
good standing shot. As my friend's rifle cracked, the bear I had
selected made a sudden dash for the woods, and I had to take him on the
run. At my first shot he turned a complete somersault, and then, quickly
springing up, again made a dash for cover. I fired a second time, and
rolled him over for good and all. Stereke was instantly slipped, and
made at once for my bear. By the time we had run up he was shaking and
biting his hindquarters in a most approved style. We at once put him
after the larger bear, which Blake had wounded, and his bark in the
thick alders told us he had located her. We all followed in and found
that the bear, although down, was still alive. Blake gave her a final
shot through the lungs.

The third bear got away, but I believe it was wounded by Nikolai. The
one that Blake had killed was the largest female we got on the
Peninsula, measuring 6 feet 6 feet 6-1/2 inches along the vertebrae.

It is interesting to note that the two yearlings differed greatly in
color. One was a grizzled brown, like the mother, while the other was
very much lighter, of a light dirty yellowish color.

We had watched these bears for some hours in the morning, and I feel
positive that the mother had no cubs of this spring with her; yet on
examination milk was found in her breasts. My natives told me that
frequently yearling cubs continue to suckle, and surely we had positive
proof of this with the large female bear.

On our way back to camp that night we saw two more bears on the other
side of the marsh, but they did not stay in the open sufficiently long
to allow us to come up.

The mosquitoes had by this time become almost unbearable, and it was
late before they permitted us to get to sleep. About 3 A.M. it began to
rain, but I was so tired that I slept on, although my pillow and
blankets were soon well soaked. As the rain continued, we finally put up
our small tent; but everything had become thoroughly wet, and we passed
a most uncomfortable day.

In the afternoon a black bear appeared not far from our camping
place. My friend went after this with his hunter, who made a most
wonderful stalk. The bear was in an almost unapproachable position, and
the two men appeared to be going directly down wind; but Ivan insisted
that there was a slight eddy in the breeze, and in this he must have
been correct, for he brought Blake up to within sixty yards, when my
friend killed the bear with a bullet through the brain.

I think it is interesting to note that our shooting grounds were the
extreme western range of the black bear. A few years ago they were not
found in this locality, but it is quite evident that they are each year
working further and further to the westward.

The next day the heavy rain still continued. The meadow was now one
vast bog, and the small lagoons were swollen into deep and rapid
streams. Everything was wet, and we passed an uncomfortable day. Our
two hunters were camped about fifty yards off under a big rock, and I
think must have had a pretty hard time of it, but all the while they
kept a sharp lookout.

About one o'clock the men reported that a large bear had been seen some
distance off, but that it had remained in sight only a short time. We
expected this bear would again make his appearance in the afternoon, and
in this surmise we were correct, for he came out into the open three
hours later, when Nikolai and I with Stereke made the stalk. We circled
well to leeward, fording the many rapid streams with great
difficulty. The rain had melted the snow on the hills, and we frequently
had to wade almost up to our shoulders in this icy water.

In crossing one of the lagoons Stereke was carried under some fallen
trees, and for a while I very much feared that my dog would be
drowned. The same thing almost happened to myself, for the swift current
twice carried me off my feet.

The bear had fed well into the open, and it was impossible, even by the
most careful stalking, to get nearer than a small patch of tall grass
about 175 yards away. I put up my rifle to shoot, but found that the
front sight was most unsteady, for I was wet to the skin and shaking all
over with cold. Half expecting to miss, I pressed the trigger, and was
not greatly surprised to see my bullet splash in the marsh just over the
bear's head. He saw the bullet strike on the other side, and now came in
our direction, but Stereke, breaking loose from Nikolai, turned him. He
now raced across our front at about 125 yards, with the dog in close
pursuit. This gave me an excellent chance, and I fired three more
shots. At my last, I saw the bear bite for his shoulder, showing that my
bullet was well placed. He continued to dash ahead, when Nikolai fired,
also hitting him in the shoulder with the heavy rifle. He dropped, but
gamely tried to rise and face Stereke, who savagely attacked his
quarters. Nikolai now fired again, his bullet going in at the chest,
raking him the entire length, and lodging under the skin at the hind
knee joint. Unfortunately this bear fell in so much water that it was
impossible to take any other accurate measurement than the one along his
back. This was the largest bear we shot on the mainland, and the one
measurement that I was able to take was 6 feet 10 inches along the
vertebrae.

[Illustration: THE HUNTER AND HIS HOME]

On examining the internal effects of his wounds, I found that my bullet
had struck the shoulder blade and penetrated one lung, but had gone to
pieces on coming in contact with the bone. Although it would have
eventually proved a mortal wound, the shock at the time was not
sufficient to knock the bear off his feet.

The next morning the storm broke, and we started back to our camp behind
the rocks, for the skins we had recently shot needed to be cleaned and
dried. We reached camp that afternoon, where I found my old hunter,
Fedor, who was now better, and had come to join us. He had arrived the
night before, and reported that he had seen three bears on the marsh. He
said he had watched them all the evening, and that the next morning two
more had made their appearance. He could no longer withstand this
temptation, and just before we had arrived had shot a small black bear
with an excellent skin.

Two days after, a bear was reported in the meadow, and as it was my
friend's turn to shoot, he started with his hunter to make the stalk. It
was raining at the time, and I was almost tempted to lie among my
blankets; but my love of sport was too strong, and, armed with powerful
glasses, I joined the men on the rocks to watch the hunters.

The bear had fed well out into the meadow not far from a small clump of
trees. In order to reach this clump of trees, Blake and Ivan were
obliged to wade quite a deep stream, and had removed their
clothes. Unfortunately my friend carelessly left his coat, in the pocket
of which were all the extra cartridges for his and Ivan's rifles.

I saw them reach the clump of trees, and then turned the glasses on the
bear. At the first shot he sprang back in surprise, while Blake's bullet
went high. The bear now located the shot, and began a quick retreat to
the woods, when one of my friend's bullets struck him, rolling him over.
He instantly regained his feet, and continued making for cover, walking
slowly and looking back over his shoulder all the while. Blake now fired
another shot, and again the bear was apparently badly hit. He moved at
such a slow pace that I thought he had surely received a mortal wound.

Entirely against orders, Ivan now shot three times in quick succession,
hitting the bear with one shot in the hind leg, his other two shots
being misses. Blake now rushed after the bear with his hunter following
some fifty yards behind, and approached to within ten steps, when he
fired his last cartridge, hitting the bear hard. The beast fell upon its
head, but once more regaining its feet, continued toward the woods. At
this point Ivan fired his last cartridge, but missed. The bear continued
for several steps, while the two hunters stood with empty rifles
watching. Suddenly, quick as a flash, he swung round upon his hind legs
and gave one spring after Blake, who, not understanding his Aleut's
shouts not to run, started across the marsh, with the bear in close
pursuit. At every step the bear was gaining, and Ivan, appreciating that
unless the bear's attention was distracted, my friend would soon be
pulled down, began waving his arms and shouting at the top of his voice,
in order to attract the bear's attention from Blake. The latter saw
that his hunter was standing firm, and, taking in the situation,
suddenly stopped. The bear charged to within a few feet of the two men;
but, when he saw their determined stand, paused, and, swinging his head
from side to side, watched them for some seconds, apparently undecided
whether to charge home or leave them. Then he turned, and, looking back
over his shoulder, made slowly for the woods.

This bear while charging had his head stretched forward, ears flat, and
teeth clinched, with his lips drawn well back, and his eyes glaring. I
am convinced that it was only Ivan's great presence of mind which
prevented a most serious accident.

It is a strange fact that a well placed bullet will knock the fight out
of such game; but if they are once thoroughly aroused it takes much more
lead to kill them. When they had got more cartridges my friend with two
natives proceeded to follow this bear up; but though they tracked him
some miles, he was never recovered.

The Aleuts when they follow up a wounded bear in thick cover, strip to
the skin, for they claim in this way they are able to move with greater
freedom, and at the same time there are no clothes to catch in the brush
and make noise. They go slowly and are most cautious, for frequently
when a bear is wounded, if he thinks that he is being pursued, he will
swing around on his own trail and spring out from the side upon the
hunters.

The next day I started with my two natives to visit a meadow well up the
bay.

As we had but a day or two left before the schooner would come to take
us away, we headed in the only direction in which the wind was
favorable. We left camp about three o'clock in the afternoon, following
the shore with the wind quartering in our faces. We had gone but a mile
from camp when I caught an indistinct outline of a bear feeding on the
grass at the edge of the timber, about 125 yards away. I quickly fired,
missing through sheer carelessness.

At the report the bear jumped sideways, unable to locate the sound, and
my next bullet struck just above his tail and ranged forward into the
lungs. Fedor now fired, missing, while I ran up with Nikolai, firing
another shot as I ran, which knocked the bear over. Stereke savagely
attacked the bear, biting and shaking him, and seeing that he was
breathing his last, I refrained from firing again, as the skin was
excellent.

This bear had had an encounter with a porcupine. One of his paws was
filled with quills, and in skinning him we found that some quills had
worked well up the leg and lodged by the ankle joint, making a most
loathsome wound.

This bear was almost as large as the one I had last shot at the head of
the bay, and his pelt made a grand trophy. I was much disgusted with
myself that afternoon for missing my first shot. It is not enough simply
to get your bear, but one should always endeavor to kill with the first
shot, otherwise much game will be lost, for the first is almost always
the easiest shot, hence one should kill or mortally wound at that
chance.

This was the last bear that we shot on the Alaska Peninsula. I had been
fortunate in killing seven brown bears, while Blake had killed three
brown and one black, and our natives had killed one brown and one black
bear, making a total of thirteen between the 7th and 28th of June.

The skulls of these brown bears we sent to Dr. Merriam, Chief of the
Biological Survey, at Washington, and they proved to be most interesting
from a scientific point of view, for from them the classification of the
bears of the Alaska Peninsula has been entirely changed, and it seems
that we were fortunate enough to bring out material enough to establish
a new species as well as a new sub-species.

The teeth of these two kinds of bears show a marked and uniform
difference, proving conclusively that there is no interbreeding between
the species. I was told by Dr. Merriam that the idea which is so
commonly believed, that different species of bears interbreed like dogs,
is entirely wrong.




III.


MY BIG BEAR OF SHUYAK

As I had been fortunate in shooting bears upon the Island of Kadiak and
the Alaska Peninsula, nothing remained but for me to obtain a specimen
from one of the outlying islands of the Kadiak group, to render my trip
in every way successful.

I therefore determined to take my two natives and hunt from a baidarka
the deep bays of the Island of Afognak, while Blake, not yet having
obtained his bear from Kadiak, went back to hunt there.

He had been extremely good to his men, and in settling with them on his
return from the Alaska Peninsula had good-naturedly paid the excessive
demands they made. The result was that his kindness was mistaken for
weakness, and just as he was about to leave his hunters struck for an
increase of pay. He sent them to the right-about, and fortunately
succeeded in filling their places.

A sportsman in going into a new country owes it to those who follow to
resist firmly exorbitant demands and at the same time to be fair and
just in all his dealings.

I have already described bear hunting in the spring, when we stalked our
game upon the snowy hillsides, and again on the Alaska Peninsula, where
we hunted across the open on foot, and also in the baidarka. I will now
speak of another form.

Toward the end of June the red salmon begin to run. These go up only the
streams that have their sources in lakes. After the red salmon, come the
humpbacks, and after the humpbacks, the dog salmon. Both of these latter
in great numbers force their way up all the streams, and are the
favorite food of the bears, which come down from the mountains by deep,
well-defined trails to catch the fish in the shallow streams. When the
salmon have begun to run, the only practical way of hunting these bears
is by watching some likely spot on the bank of a stream.

Early in July Blake and I parted, intending to meet again two weeks
later. My friend sailed away in a small schooner, while I left with my
two natives in the baidarka. In Fedor's place I had engaged a native by
the name of Lofka. We three paddled with a will, as we were anxious to
reach a deep bay on the north side of the Island of Afognak as soon as
possible.

This was all familiar country to me, for I had spent over a month in
this locality the year before, and as we camped for the night I could
hardly realize that twelve months had gone by since I left this
beautiful spot. For the Island of Afognak, with its giant cliffs and
deep bays, is to my mind one of the most picturesque regions I have ever
seen.

The next morning the wind was unfavorable, but in the afternoon we were
able to visit one of the salmon streams. The red salmon had come, but it
would be another week or more before the humpbacks would begin their
run. It was a bleak day, with the rain driving in our faces. We forced
our way up the banks of a stream for some miles, following well-defined
bear trails through the tall grass. Some large tracks were seen, but we
sighted no game. We returned to camp after ten o'clock that night, wet
to the skin and chilled through. The following day was a repetition of
this, only under worse weather conditions, if that were possible.

I now decided to push on to a large bay on the northeast side of the
island. This is locally known as Seal Bay, and is supposed to be without
question the best hunting ground on Afognak.

Unfortunately a heavy wind detained us in Paramonoff Bay for two
days. The morning after the storm broke we made a four o'clock start.
There was a strong favoring breeze, and we made a sail of one of the
blankets. The baidarka fairly flew, but it was rather ticklish work, as
the sea was quite rough. Early that afternoon we turned into the narrow
straits which lie between the islands of Afognak and Shuyak. Shuyak is
uninhabited, but some natives have hunting barabaras there. Formerly
this island contained great numbers of silver gray foxes. A few years
ago some white trappers visited it and put out poison. The result was
the extermination of all the foxes upon the island, for not only the
foxes that ate the poison died, but the others which ate the poisoned
carcasses. The hunters obtained but one skin, as the foxes died in
their holes or in the woods, and were not found until their pelts were
spoiled. This is a fair example of the great need for Alaskan game laws.

At the present time Shuyak is rich in bear and in land otter, and I can
imagine no better place for a national game preserve. It has lakes and
salmon streams, and would be an ideal place to stock.

The straits between Shuyak and Afognak are extremely dangerous, for the
great tides from Cook Inlet draw through this narrow passage. My nerve
was tested a bit as the baidarka swept by the shore, for had it once got
well started we should have been drawn into the rapids and then into a
long line of angry breakers beyond. At one point it seemed as if we were
heading right into these dangerous waters, and then abruptly turning at
a sharp angle, we glided around a point into a shallow bay. Circling
this shore we successfully passed inside the line of breakers and soon
met the long ground swell of the Pacific, while Seal Bay stretched for
many miles inland on the other side.

It had been a long day, but as the wind was favorable we stopped only
for a cup of tea and then pushed on to the very head of the bay. Here,
at the mouth of a salmon stream, we came upon many fresh bear tracks,
and passed the night watching. As we had seen nothing by four o'clock in
the morning, we cautiously withdrew, and, going some distance down the
shore, camped in an old hunting barabara. It had been rather a long
stretch, when one considers that we had breakfasted a little over
twenty-four hours before. Watching a salmon stream by night is poor
sport, but it is the only kind of hunting that one can do at this time
of the year.

I slept until seven o'clock, when the men called me, and after a cup of
tea we started for the salmon stream, which we followed up beyond where
we had watched it the night previous. We were very careful to wade so as
not to give our scent to any bears which might approach the stream from
below. There were many tracks and deep, well-used trails leading in all
directions, while every few yards we came upon places where the tall
grass was trampled down, showing where bears had been fishing. These
bear trails are quite a feature of the Alaskan country, and some of them
are two feet wide and over a foot deep, showing that they have been in
constant use for many years.

That night we heard a bear pass within ten yards of us, but could not
see it. We returned to camp next morning at five o'clock, and I wrote up
my journal, for this night work is extremely confusing, and one
completely loses track of the days unless careful.

My men came to me after their mid-day sleep with very cheerful
countenances, and assured me that there was no doubt but that I should
surely soon meet with success, for the palm of Nikolai's hand had been
itching, and he had dreamed of blood and a big dog fighting, while
Lofka's eyelid trembled. My hunters told me in all seriousness that
these signs never failed.

In the afternoon we decided to watch a new place. We carried the
baidarka up a small stream and launched it in quite a large and
picturesque lake. We slowly paddled along the shores and watched near
the mouths of several salmon streams. By twelve o'clock we had not even
seen a track, so I decided to return to camp and get some much needed
sleep. The natives were to call me early the next morning, for I had
decided to return to Paramonoff Bay.

I think this was the only time in my hunting life that I was
deliberately lazy; but, although my natives called me several times, I
slept right on until nine o'clock. I was strongly tempted when we got
under way to start back by continuing around the Island of Afognak; but
Nikolai was anxious to have me give Paramonoff Bay another trial. He
tho

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