The return journey to Portland was without incident. There I boarded the steamer and spent another delightful day on the broad bosom of the Columbia river, winding up among the grand basaltic cliffs and towering mountain peaks of the Cascade Range. Again the little camera came into requisition, and though the day was cloudy and bl.u.s.terous, though snow fell at frequent intervals, and though the steamer trembled like a reed shaken by the wind, I made a dozen or more exposures on the most interesting and beautiful subjects as we pa.s.sed them, and to my surprise many came out good pictures. Most of them lack detail in the deeper shadows, but the results altogether show that had the day been clear and bright all would have been perfect. In short, it is possible with this dry-plate process to make good pictures from a moving steamboat, or even from a railway train going at a high rate of speed. I made three pictures from a Northern Pacific train, coming through the Bad Lands, when running twenty-five miles an hour, and though slightly blurred in the near foreground, the b.u.t.tes and bluffs, a hundred yards and further away, are as sharp as if I had been standing on the ground and the camera on a tripod; and a snap shot at a prairie-dog town--just as the train slowed on a heavy grade--shows several of the little rodents in various poses, some of them apparently trying to look pretty while having their "pictures took."

CHAPTER XIX.

I stopped off at Spokane Falls, on my way home, for a few days' deer hunting, and though that region be not exactly in the Cascades, it is so near that a few points in relation to the sport there may be admissible in connection with the foregoing narrative. I had advised my good friend, Dr. C. S. Penfield, of my coming, and he had kindly planned for me a hunting trip. On the morning after my arrival his brother-in-law, Mr. T. E. Jefferson, took me up behind a pair of good roadsters and drove to Johnston's ranch, eighteen miles from the falls, and near the foot of Mount Carleton, where we hoped to find plenty of deer. We hunted there two days, and though we found signs reasonably plentiful and saw three or four deer we were unable to kill any. Mr. Jefferson burned some powder after a buck and a doe the first morning after our arrival, but it was his first experience in deer hunting, so it is not at all strange that the game should have escaped. Mr. Jefferson was compelled to return home at that time on account of a business engagement, but Mr. Johnston, with characteristic Western hospitality and kindness, said I must not leave without a shot, and so hooked up his team and drove me twenty-five miles farther into the mountains, to a place where he said we would surely find plenty of game. On the way in we picked up old Billy Cowgill, a famous deer hunter in this region, and took him along as guide. We stopped at Brooks' stage ranch, on the Colville road to rest the team, and the proprietor gave us an amusing account of some experiments he had been making in shooting buckshot from a muzzle-loading shotgun. He had made some little bags of buckskin, just large enough to hold twelve No. 2 buckshot, and after filling them had sewed up the ends. He shot a few of them at a tree sixty yards away, but they failed to spread and all went into one hole. Then he tried leaving the front end of the bag open, and still they acted as a solid ball; so he had to abandon the scheme, and loaded the charge loose, as of old. He concluded, however, not to fire this last load at the target, and hung the gun up in its usual place. A few days later he heard the dog barking in the woods a short distance from the house, and supposed it had treed a porcupine. Mr. Brooks' brother, who was visiting at the time, took the gun and went out to kill the game, whatever it might be. On reaching the place, he found a ruffed grouse sitting in a tree, at which he fired.

The ranchman said he heard the report, and his brother soon came back, carrying a badly-mutilated bird; he threw it into the kitchen, and put the gun away; then he sat down, looked thoughtful, and kept silent for a long time. Finally he blurted out:

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE STAGE RANCH.]

"Say, Tom; that gun got away from me."

"How was that?" queried the ranchman.

"I don't know; but I shot pretty near straight up at the grouse, and somehow the gun slipped off my shoulder and done this." And opening his coat he showed his vest, one side of which was split from top to bottom; he then took out a handful of his watch and held it up--one case was torn off, the crystal smashed, the dial caved in, and the running gear all mixed up. The ranchman said he guessed he had put one of the buckskin bags of shot into that barrel, and forgetting that fact, had added the loose charge. He said he reckoned twenty-four No. 2 buckshot made too heavy a load for an eight-pound gun.

We reached "Peavine Jimmy's" mining cabin, which was to be our camp, at three o'clock in the afternoon, and busied ourselves till dark in the usual duties of cooking, eating, and gathering wood. Old Billy proved a very interesting character; he is a simple, quiet, honest, unpretentious old man, and unlike most backwoodsmen, a veritable coward. He has the rare good sense, however, to admit it frankly, and thus disarms criticism. In fact, his frequent admission of this weakness is amusing.

He says that for fear of getting lost he does not like to go off a trail when hunting, unless there is snow on the ground, so that he can track himself back into camp. He rides an old buckskin pony that is as modest and gentle as its master. Billy says he often gets lost when he does venture away from the trail, but in such cases he just gives old Buck the rein, hits him a slap, and tells him to go to camp and he soon gets there. He told us a bear story that night, worthy of repet.i.tion.

Something was said that reminded him of it, and he mentioned it, but added, modestly, that he didn't know as we cared for any bear stories.

But we said we were very fond of them, and urged the recital.

"Well, then," he said, "if you will wait a minute, I'll take a drink of water first and then I'll tell it to you," and he laughed a kind of boyish t.i.tter, and began:

"Well, me and three other fellers was up north in the Colville country, huntin', and all the other fellows was crazy to kill a bear. I didn't want to kill no bear, and didn't expect to. I'm as 'feard as death of a bear, and hain't no use for 'em. All I wanted to kill was a deer. The other fellers, they wanted to kill some deer, too, but they wanted bear the worst. So one mornin' we all started out, and the other fellers they took the best huntin' ground, and said I'd better go down along the creek and see if I couldn't kill some grouse, for they didn't believe I could kill any thing bigger'n that; and I said, all right, and started off down the creek. Purty soon I come to an old mill that wasn't runnin'

then. And when I got purty near to the mill I set down on a log, for I didn't think it was worth while to go any furder, for I didn't think I would find any game down the creek, and I didn't care much whether I did or not. Well, I heard a kind of a racket in the mill, and durned if there wasn't a big black bear right in the mill. And I watched him a little bit, and he started out towards me. And I said to myself, says I, 'Now Billy, here's your chance to kill a bear.'

"I hadn't never killed no bear before, nor never seed one before, and durned if I wasn't skeered nearly to death. But I thought there wasn't no use of runnin', for I knowed he could run faster'n I could, so I took out my knife and commenced cuttin' down the brush in front of me, for I wanted to make a shure shot if I did shoot, if I could. And the bear, he come out of the mill and rared up, and put his paws on a log and looked at me, and I said to myself, says I, 'Now Billy, this is your time to shoot'; but I wasn't ready to shoot yit. They was one more bush I wanted to cut out of the way before I shot, so I cut if off and laid down my knife, and then I took up my gun and tried to take aim at his breast, but doggoned if I didn't shake so I couldn't see the sights at all. And I thought one time I wouldn't shoot, and then I knowed the other fellers would laugh at me if I told 'em I seed a bear and didn't shoot at him, and besides I was afraid some of 'em was up on the hillside lookin' at me then. So I just said to myself, says I, 'Now Billy, you're goin' to get eat up if you don't kill him, but you might as well be eat up as to be laughed at.' So I jist took the best aim I could for shakin', an' shet both eyes an' pulled.

"Well, I think the bear must a begin to git down jist as I pulled, for I tore his lower jaw off and shot a big hole through one side of his neck.

He howled and roared and rolled around there awhile and then he got still. I got round where I could see him, after he quit kickin', but I was afeared to go up to him, so I shot two more bullets through his head to make sure of him. And then I set down and waited a long while to see if he moved any more; for I was afeard he mightn't be dead yit, and might be playin' possum, jist to get ahold of me. But he didn't move no more, so I went up to him with my gun c.o.c.ked and pointed at his head, so if he did move I could give him another one right quick. An' then I punched him a little with my gun, but he didn't stir. An' when I found he was real dead I took my knife and cut off one of his claws, an' then I went back to camp, the biggest feelin' old cuss you ever seed.

"Well, arter while the other fellers they all come in, lookin' mighty blue, for they hadn't any of 'em killed a thing, an' when I told 'em I'd killed a bear, they wouldn't believe it till I showed 'em the claw. An'

then they wouldn't believe it, neither, for they thought I'd bought the claw of some Injin. And they wouldn't believe it at all till they went out with me and seed the bear and helped skin 'im, and cut 'im up, and pack 'im into camp. An' they was the dog-gondest, disappointedest lot of fellers you ever seed, for we hunted five days longer, an' nary one of 'em got to kill a bear nor even see one. They thought I was the poorest hunter and the biggest coward in the lot, but I was the only one that killed a bear that clip."

CHAPTER XX.

We were out at daylight the next morning and hunted all day with fair success. Johnston and Billy jumped a bunch of five mule-deer, a buck, two does, and two fawns. Johnston fired fourteen shots at them before they got out of the country, and killed the two does. In speaking of it afterward Billy said he was just taking a good aim at the old buck's eye when Johnston's gun cracked the first time, and of course the buck ran, so he did not get a shot.

"But why didn't you shoot at him running?" I inquired.

"Because I can't hit a jumpin' deer," he replied, frankly, "and I hate like thunder to miss."

I spent the day about a mile from camp on top of Blue Grouse Mountain, a prominent landmark of the country. A heavy fog hung about the mountain and over the surrounding country until about three o'clock in the afternoon, when it lifted and disclosed a view of surpa.s.sing loveliness.

Away to the west and southwest there was a level tract of swampy, heavily timbered country about thirty miles long and ten miles wide. I looked down on the tops of the trees composing this vast forest, and they appeared at this distance not unlike a vast field of half-grown green grain. Beyond this tract to the west a chain of hills wound in serpentine curves from north to south, their parks and bits of prairie gleaming in the sun like well-made farms. To the north lay Loon Lake nestling among the pine-clad hills, its placid bosom sparkling in the setting sun like a sheet of silver. Farther to the north and northeast were two other lakes of equal size and beauty, while far distant in the east were several large bodies of prairie separated by strips of pine and fir. I longed for my camera, but on account of the unfavorable outlook of the morning, I had not brought the instrument.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE OF JOHNSTON'S PRIZES.]

The following morning promised no better, for the fog hung like a pall over the whole country; but I took the little detective with me, hoping the mist would lift as before; in this, however, I was disappointed. I staid on the mountain from early morning till half-past three, and there being then no prospect of a change went down. Just as I reached the base I saw a rift in the clouds, and supposing the long-wished change in the weather was about to take place, I turned and began the weary climb, but again the fog settled down, and I was at last compelled to return to camp without the coveted views. I made several exposures during the day on crooked, deformed, wind-twisted trees on the top of the mountain, which, strange to say, came out good. The fog was so dense at the time that one could not see fifty yards. I used a small stop and gave each plate from five to twenty seconds, and found, when developed, that none of them were over exposed, while those given the shorter time were under exposed. That day's hunting resulted in three more deer, and as we then had all the meat our team could take out up the steep hills near camp, we decided to start for home the next morning. While seated around our blazing log fire in the old cabin that night, Mr. Johnston entertained us with some interesting reminiscences of his extensive experience in the West. He has been a "broncho buster," a stock ranchman, and a cow-boy by turns, and a recital of his varied experiences in these several lines would fill a big book. Among others, he told us that he once lived in a portion of California where the ranchmen raised a great many hogs, but allowed them to range at will in the hills and mountains from the time they were littered until old enough and large enough for market; that in this time they became as wild as deer and as savage as peccaries, so that the only way they could ever be reclaimed and marketed was to catch them with large, powerful dogs, trained to the work. Their feet were then securely tied with strong thongs, and they were muzzled and packed into market or to the ranches, as their owners desired, on horses or mules.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ARE YOU LOOKING FOR US?]

Johnston had a pair of these dogs, and used to a.s.sist his neighbors in rounding up their wild hogs. In one case, he and several other men went with an old German ranchman away up into the mountains to bring out a drove of these pine-skinners, many of whom had scarcely seen a human being since they were pigs, and at sight of the party the hogs stampeded of course, and ran like so many deer. The dogs were turned loose, took up a trail, and soon had a vicious critter by the ears, when the packers came up, muzzled and tied it securely. The dogs were then turned loose again, and another hog was rounded up in the same way. These two were hung onto a pack-animal with their backs down, their feet lashed together over the pack-saddle, and their long, sharp snouts pointing toward the horse's head. They were duly cinched, and the horse turned loose to join the train. This operation was repeated until the whole herd was corralled and swung into place on the horses, and the squealing, groaning, and snorting of the terrified brutes was almost deafening. One pair of hogs were loaded on a little mule which had never been accustomed to this work, and, as the men were all engaged in handling the other animals, the old ranchman said he would lead this mule down the mountain himself. Johnston and his partner cinched the hogs on in good shape, while the Dutchman hung to the mule.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A BUCKING MULE.]

As they were giving the ropes the final pull, Johnston gave his chum a wink, and they both slipped out their knives, cut the muzzles off the porkers when the old man was looking the other way, and told him to go ahead. He started down the trail towing the little mule, which did not relish its load in the least, by the halter. The hogs were struggling to free themselves, and, as the thongs began to cut into their legs, they got mad and began to bite the mule.

Then there was trouble; stiff-legged bucking set in, and mule and hogs were churned up and down, and changed ends so rapidly that for a few minutes it was hard to tell which of the three animals was on the outside, the inside, the topside, or the bottom-side. The poor little mule was frantic with rage and fright, and what a mule can not and will not do under such circ.u.mstances, to get rid of a load can not be done by any four-footed beast. He pawed the air, kicked, and brayed, jumped backward, forward, and sidewise, and twisted himself into every imaginable shape. The old Dutchman was as badly stampeded as the mule; he shouted, yanked, and swore in Dutch, English, and Spanish; he yelled to the men above to come and help him, but they were so convulsed and doubled up with laughter that they could not have helped him if they would.

Finally, the mule got away from the old man and went tearing down into the canon; he overtook and pa.s.sed the balance of the pack-train, stampeded them almost beyond control of the packers, and knocked the poor hogs against trees and brush until they were almost dead. He ran nearly six miles, and being unable to get rid of his pack, fell exhausted and lay there until the men came up and took charge of him.

The old man accused Johnston of cutting the muzzles off the hogs, but he and his partner both denied it, said they certainly must have slipped off, and they finally convinced him that that was the way the trouble came about.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BUCKER AND THE BUSTER.]

This, with sundry other recitals of an equally interesting nature, caused the evening to pa.s.s pleasantly, and at a late hour we turned into our bunks. We were up and moving long before daylight the next morning, and as soon as we could see the trail hooked up the team and attempted to go, but, alas for our hopes of an early start, one of the horses refused to pull at the very outset--in short, he balked and no mule ever balked worse. Johnston plied the buckskin until the horse refused to stand it any longer and began to rear and to throw himself on the tongue, back in the harness, etc. Johnston got off the wagon, went to the animal's head and tried to lead it, but the brute would not be led any more than it would be driven, and commenced rearing and striking at its master as if trying to kill him. This aroused the ire of the ranchman and he picked up a piece of a board, about four inches wide and three feet long, and fanned the vicious critter right vigorously. I took a hand in the game, at Johnston's request, and warmed the cayuse's latter half to the best of my ability with a green hemlock gad. He bucked and backed, reared and ranted, pawed, pitched, plunged and pranced, charged, cavorted and kicked, until it seemed that he would surely make shreds of the harness and kindling wood of the wagon; but the whole outfit staid with him, including Johnston and myself.

We wore out his powers of endurance if not his hide, and he finally got down to business, took the load up the hill and home to the ranch, without manifesting any further inclination to strike. We reached the ranch about nine o'clock at night, and the next day Johnston drove me into Spokane Falls, where, in due time, I caught the train for home.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VIEW IN THE SPOKANE VALLEY.]

Spokane Falls is a growing, pushing town, and the falls of the Spokane river, from which the town takes its name, afford one of the most beautiful and interesting sights on the line of the Northern Pacific road. There are over a dozen distinct falls within a half a mile, one of which is over sixty feet in perpendicular height. Several of these falls are split into various channels by small islands or pillars of basaltic rock. At one place, where two of these channels unite in a common plunge into a small pool, the water is thrown up in a beautiful, sh.e.l.l-like cone of white foam, to a height of nearly six feet. It is estimated by competent engineers that the river at this point furnishes a water-power equal in the aggregate to that of the Mississippi at St. Anthony's Falls. Every pa.s.senger over this route should certainly stop off and spend a few hours viewing the falls of the Spokane river.

CHAPTER XXI.

HUNTING THE GRIZZLY BEAR.

The bear, like man, inhabits almost every lat.i.tude and every land, and has even been translated to the starry heavens, where the constellations of the Great Dipper and the Little Dipper are known to us as well as to the ancients as _Ursi Major_ and _Minor_. But North America furnishes the largest and most aggressive species in the grizzly (_Ursus horribilis_), the black (_Ursus america.n.u.s_), and the polar (_Ursus maritimus_) bears, and here the hunter finds his most daring sport. Of all the known plantigrades (flat-footed beasts) the grizzly is the most savage and the most dreaded, and he is the largest of all, saving the presence of his cousin the polar bear, for which, nevertheless, he is more than a match in strength and courage. Some specimens measure seven feet from tip of nose to root of tail. The distinctive marks of the species are its great size; the shortness of the tail as compared with the ears; the huge flat paws, the sole of the hind foot sometimes measuring seven and a half by five inches in a large male; the length of the hind legs as compared with the fore legs, which gives the beast his awkward, shambling gait; the long claws of the fore foot, sometimes seven inches in length, while those of the hind foot measure only three or four; the erect, bristling mane of stiff hair, often six inches long; the coa.r.s.e hair of the body, sometimes three inches long, dark at the base, but with light tips. He has a dark stripe along the back, and one along each side, the hair on his body being, as a rule, a brownish-yellow, the region around the ears dusky, the legs nearly black, and the muzzle pale. Color, however, is not a distinctive mark, for female grizzlies have been killed in company with two cubs, one of which was brown, the other gray, or one dark, the other light; and the supposed species of "cinnamon" and "brown" bears are merely color variations of _Ursus horribilis_ himself.

This ubiquitous gentleman has a wide range for his habitat. He has been found on the Missouri river from Fort Pierre northward, and thence west to his favorite haunts in the Rockies; on the Pacific slope clear down to the coast; as far south as Mexico, and as far north as the Great Slave Lake in British America. He not only ranges everywhere, but eats everything. His majesty is a good liver. He is not properly a beast of prey, for he has neither the cat-like instincts, nor the noiseless tread of the _felidae_, nor is he fleet and long-winded like the wolf, although good at a short run, as an unlucky hunter may find. But he hangs about the flanks of a herd of buffalo, with probably an eye to a wounded or disabled animal, and he frequently raids a ranch and carries off a sheep, hog, or calf that is penned beyond the possibility of escape.

Elk is his favorite meat, and the knowing hunter who has the good luck to kill an elk makes sure that its carca.s.s will draw Mr. Grizzly if he is within a range of five miles. He will eat not only flesh, fish, and fowl, but roots, herbs, fruit, vegetables, honey, and insects as well.

Plums, buffalo-berries, and choke-cherries make a large part of his diet in their seasons.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DEATH AND THE CAUSE OF IT.]

The grizzly bear possesses greater vitality and tenacity of life than any other animal on the continent, and the hunter who would hunt him must be well armed and keep a steady nerve. Each shot must be cooly put where it will do the most good. Several are frequently necessary to stop one of these savage beasts. A single bullet lodged in the brain is fatal. If shot through the heart he may run a quarter of a mile or kill a man before he succ.u.mbs. In the days of the old muzzle-loading rifle it was hazardous indeed to hunt the grizzly, and many a man has paid the penalty of his folly with his life. With our improved breech-loading and repeating rifles there is less risk.

The grizzly is said to bury carca.s.ses of large animals for future use as food, but this I doubt. I have frequently returned to carca.s.ses of elk or deer that I had killed and found that during my absence bears had partially destroyed them, and in their excitement, occasioned by the smell or taste of fresh meat, had pawed up the earth a good deal thereabout, throwing dirt and leaves in various directions, and some of this debris may have fallen on the bodies of the dead game; but I have never seen where any systematic attempt had been made at burying a carca.s.s. Still, Bruin may have played the s.e.xton in some cases. He hibernates during winter, but does not take to his long sleep until the winter has thoroughly set in and the snow is quite deep. He may frequently be tracked and found in snow a foot deep, where he is roaming in search of food. He becomes very fat before going into winter quarters, and this vast acc.u.mulation of oil furnishes nutriment and heat sufficient to sustain life during his long confinement.