MOUNTAIN CHARLIE’S GRIZZLY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 765, 29 October 1886, Page 7

MOUNTAIN CHARLIE’S GRIZZLY.

A-"'TRUE' STORY : 0P : : ■ —MOUNTAIN LIFE,, K ,:^3{'f s

The fpUdwing story, _ taken from my ' note-bookj deals with a tragic episode _ : in the life'pf 'one.'Jof the; paost noted 'Paciffi? ?. ■= coalt characters. ;* The. incident is l ;detailed, :• via R jaetiiaily p'ccurred; and - the^pefsoVfs^ind;! i places gained are.rearpprsdfis and real piicjsk; 1 the facts'asmpted in my book otf the eVefirag 1 ’ of thatexciting- day,' j ' i d •- ! The, fain dripped mbnotcnonsly through A thetifatted branches of the 'giant red wood A that' towered straight afief branchless for a-”" . hundred feet, like so many'telegraph poles, ; until at the tops they foliaged out llke-§teat fimbrenas tl&t Afiut pfi| the light 1 and 7 taade midddytwilightnndtwilightdarkness.^^';^ \ Night 'wis'^btf/jar-';»nd [ lhe?‘siS<|w gloom in the dedee“rpdw6od7fbrest ticulatby cheerless on ‘ this ’ Nov^hifaer 7 after- . :nooU inrlß7sr " v:; ti'i'f 5 ?- 2 i? ,s Edr/fbur ''Week's'- it'"“had_ ( been r: ,.ra}njng_; r -ifacSsshiitly, finltif :i th;e~'fqaaS Ahd;tfajlS‘ 1 alldibstr impassable: ! 'all-*the : brbeks''im<t, rT“.'M t !f’Jn£wa. r-t-TJ 10 craiens soj at jscod -r.‘ -all ed# ci f.’iw Jisficnov,- oadw

rivulets in the Santa Cruz range were swollen into roaring torrents. Los Gatos creek, which rushes through the Santa Cruz pass, was a miniature Niagara, and the San Jose road that wound round and round among the spurs and divides like a great serpent, was fetlock deep in semi-liquid adobe mud. Bob Murray and I had travelled all day long, having urged our mustangs from the Las Animas ranche, thirty-five miles away, to the south-east in Santa Clara valley (a very respectable day’s performance, considering the state of the roads), and we were now worn out, wet to the skin, and hungry as laborers.

But already we had achieved the summit of the pass, and were spurring our fagged horses into a lope over the blind trail that we knew would take us by a short cut to Mountain Charlie’s lonely hermitage. A few rods further and we heard the unmistakable click of ,an axe, and yet a rod or two more and we entered a small clearing, at the further angle of which the eccentric mountaineer’s log house stood. Smoke curled hospitably from the mud and cobble chimney, and Charlie himself was busily engaged in chopping into convenient lengths |some redwood logs destined for the big fireplace. Only two days previously we had received a note from Charlie, which ran as follows : ‘Boys—Grizzlies—Come.—C.’ The summons, couched as it was in Mountain Charlie’s laconic style, was as binding upon us as royal mandate, and allowing no superfluous time to intervene, we had saddled and hastened to what we knew would be an exciting hunt, if nothing more, for Charley was renowned from Shasta to Monterey for his prowess, and many hairTjreadth escapes from the savage beasts of the Sierras. « Howdye ?’ was the sole salutation of our strange friend, who kept on swinging the axe, making the huge chunks fly. We knew Mountain Charlie’s taciturn liumor, and with a friendly greeting threw ourselves from our horses, and turned them loose to pick up a supper of brush tops, only taking the precaution to hobble them so that they could not stray far. * Boys,’ said old Charley, throwing down his axe and shouldering a big log, preparatory to leading the way into his cabin, * there's the biggest old she-b’ar ’round here that ever you see, and she’s got two pretty well-grown cubs. She let out with my old dog day afore yesterday. Chips never would learn to let b’ar alone, and ’ud bark like a yaller kur when he scented one around. Well, he acted queer-like just afore sundown, and rushed across the divide yelping like all get out. ’Twarnt more than three 'minutes, afore I heard a awful howl, and knew for sure the fool had cashed in. It was getting too dark to start out to track the critter, so I let her go till morning. Just after the sun riz, I slung my rifle over my shoulder and started out. Down by the spring I found the tracks. I knew by the size of them that there were a she-b’ar and two big cubs. You ought to have seen them she-b’ar tracks. Biggest ever I dropped onto. I knew she couldn’t go far ; so I just let her go and sent for you fellers. B’ar a piece, thinks I.’ During the rainy season the raw air is penetrating, and a cheery fire is one of the comforts of mountain life.

Soon we were sharing Charlie's simple meal, devouring huge slices of rye bread, spread over with Oregon butter—the ’FortyNiners’ substitute for the dairy product—a mixture of bacon gravy, flour and salt cooked up in a fryingpan. Somehow or other Charlie's bacon, beans and rye bread always did taste more delicious than the grandest banquet witdin civilisation; and a night’s rest, wrapped in blankets, in front of Charlie’s blazing wood fire, discounted a bed of down in a home of luxury. After a snatch of breakfast, we were out in the cool gray morning, accoutred for vanquishing any numher of grizzlies. The incessant downpour of the day before had given place to a murky, disagreeable mist, that gradually penetrated our garments and made our teeth chatter. Charlie led the way, plunging into the trackless forest of redwoods, and marching sturdily ahead, with his rifle over his shoulder. A splendid speciman of the mountaineer was Charlie. Tall, straight as an arrow, without an ounce of superfluous flesh upon him, with muscles of iron, and nervous energy that would carry him through terrible exhaustion, where other men would give in for want of pluck. Then, what Mountain Charley did not know about woodcraft and bear-shooting was not worth talking about Bob and I had had plenty of experience in times past, but when we joined forces with this Nimrod of the Santa Cruz pass, we fell silently into leading strings. Three hundred yards from the cabin we struck a trail that led across a divide, and then down into a gulch through which a creek ran hissing and seething among the boulders. Keeping a sharp look out among the undergrowth along the creek, we moved carefully aloDg the side of the gulch, climbiDg over the great trunks of the fallen redwood trees. No sound save the thud of our footsteps, upon the dank ground broke the solemn stillness. And thus we proceeded for a long ■while. , _ * Dumed bar's gone over in Wild Cat Canon,’ growled Charlie, becoming convinced that the grizzlies had crossed the gulch and gone over the hill into the next gully. Plunging down into the gulch, we crossed the torrent on boulders, and' climbed painfully up the other side, slipping on the wet earth, and shaking showers of spray over us from the lancewood saplings we grasped in our efforts to preserve the perpendicular. Arrived at the summit, Charlie sent us up the canon, with directions not to be rash, and admonitions not to shoot, if we did come up with the bears, unless certain of our distance. . * That thar old she-bar 11 make it warm •work for the feller as only puts a bullet into her without killing her,’ remarked Charlie, as he strode down the hillside. Starting in real earnest to track a grizzly is a serious job, for, aside from the fact that these immense animals can carry off an unlimited amount of lead in the shape of bullets, they are by far the most ferocious beast in the Sierras or Coast Range, and, when wounded, will fight to the death, Un«

like the great black bear, they cannot climb, but they are surprisingly active, and, on a down grade, have been known to overtake a horse.

We travelled up the canon, carefully scanning every bush and boulder that might conceal anything, and had progressed perhaps half a mile, w’lien we were startled by a rifleshot down the canon.

I was some distance behind Bob, but did not wait for him. I dashed back along.the 1 creek, leaping logs and clearing rocks in a way that would have done credit to an athlete. I knew Charlie had come upon one of the bears, for he would never have shot at smaller game when bent on a grizzly hunt, and I hoped to get a shot at one of them. In a few minutes I neared the spot where I judged the shot to have been fired. A few steps farther and I heard growls and sound of snapping brush. Instinctively I knew that there .was trouble. Seizing my rifle and holding it in front of me, ready for instant use, I sprang forward in the direction of the fracas. Just on the other side of the clump of water-birches a terrible scene presented itself. On the ground lay a dead cub, and nearly over it stood Charlie, knife in hand, almost covered with blood, and fully upon him, uttering fearful growls, was the old she-bear. . She was reared up on her haunches, with her cavernous red mouth almost in the mountaineer’s face, clawing away at him, while he was endeavoring to reach a vital spot with the keen, glittering knife. Twice I rased my rifle to fire, and each time lowered it, afraid lest I should hit my friend. Again I raised my rifle, and taking steady aim at the left shoulder, fired. As I did so bear and man fell to the ground, the grizzly falling over upon Charlie. Keeping a sharp look out for the other cub, I hurried forward, and was horrified to find Charlie lying as if dead, with a frightful wound on his forehead, inflicted by the sharp claws of the ponderous paw. Just as I had fired the grizzly had got in a blow that had torn away a part of the scalp and fractured the skull of her antagonist. The hunter lay still, and I supposed him dead. In spite of all I could do, I could not roll the huge carcase off poor Charlie, and was forced to wait for Bob, _who happily appeared within a couple of minutes. Bob was horror-stricken, but wasted no time in asking questions. Together we managed to roll the body of the bear off of Charlie. He presented a frightful appearance, and at first we thought him dead, but Bob was a bit of a doctor, and after a careful examination, declared that there was still life. We dashed water into the poor fellow’s face, but all to no purpose. „ * No use,’ moaned Bob, * Charlie has killed his last bear. But we must get him out of here. We can’t carry him up these steep hillsides. You had better run back to the cabin and bring one of the mustangs. _ Then we can strap him on and get him to medical men.’

How I tore up the side of the mountain and across the divide until I arrived at the clearing 1 Almost exhausted, I flung myself into the saddle and spurred the mustang at breakneck speed down the sides of the canons. It was a wonder I did not break my neck. Together we lifted the inanimate form of the hunter and strapped it upon the mustang, and then, one walking on either side, we began our journey home. Oh, what a long journey it seemed ! At all risks Charley had to be taken to a hospital, for he could not have had proper attention on the mountain. So we hitched the mustangs to an old wood waggon, made a bed of blanket, whereon we deposited the injured man, and took him to San Jose, twenty-five miles away. At the hospital the doctors looked grave, said Charley had one chance in a thousand to live, and informed us that the grizzly had carried away a piece of the frontal bone as big as a dollar, and that a portion of the brain had oozed out. But they went to work scientifically to patch their patient up. They hammered out a silver plate and inserted it where the skull was missing. For weeks Charlie hung between life and death, but at last he pulled through and we were sent for. It was a woe-begone Charlie who sat up on his cot to receive us. His head was still bandaged, and his face, neck and chest were seamed with terrible scars left by the wicked claws. ‘I told you that was a tongh old b’ar,’ were the first words he saluted us with.

Then he told us the story. * You see, boys,’ said he,. I got a glimpse at the cub, and dropped him. I knew the old one would be about, but didn’t look for her so close. I just got up to the cab, when the old one riz right up from behind a clump of bushes, and fetched me one across the shoulder, breaking my gun short, off at the stock. I couldn't get my pistol out, for it was caugth, and as it was all up hill it wasn’t no use for me to run, so I whipped out my knife, and stood in for a fair boxing match. You know the rest, Serves me right for being such a tarnal fool as to go close to the cub. A feller never quits learning in this here world. Honest Charlie recovered fully, and the county made him keeper of the toll-gate on the summit of the range. He wears the silver plate, and will to his dying day. And everybody in California knows or has heard of Mountain Charlie, and the bear that mowed away a portiou of his skull. The old hunter carries the little round piece of bone in his pocket, and the bear’s hide was secured and stuffed, and now graces a museum in San Francisco.