ROSS'S PEAK.
In the afternoon we had intended to do a little mountain climbing. We had gone a mile on the road to ascend Ross's Peak, a mountain (of which I made a sketch) about 10,000 feet above sea level, and at a distance of about seven miles; but on looking towards the mountains in the west we noticed that the bright sunshine in which we were walking was obscured in their direction by heavy, suspicious clouds. And presently a few drops fell. Before we could get back to our cabin the rain came down in torrents, with thunder and lightning; and, looking up to Ross's Peak, we found that he had already assumed his winter mantle of snow. This is the first rain we have had since our arrival in America, and as it was our last day we were sorry to miss the fine view to be obtained from the peak. The ascent, we were told, was in fine weather not difficult, though no doubt very laborious. In the evening the western mountains across the valley presented a very interesting appearance. They were now clad with snow, and a thick black cloud hung just above them, leaving a clear-cut outline of white peaks; the sunset was glowing like a great fiery furnace behind them. It was a splendid sight.
Before night set in the thermometer had fallen from 78° in the shade, as it stood in the morning, to 34°, and during the night we had the deluge which I have already mentioned. To-morrow we start on our homeward journey.
I told you in my first letter that it was my intention to spend my holiday in this region, and here I am sitting in our little log cabin, overlooking a vast expanse of prairie valley, nearly six thousand miles away from my native land. So much of one's time is taken up in the railway trains that little is left for doing anything out of them. I told you that the three special horrors I expected to have to encounter would be mosquitoes, Indians, and bears! I saw one or two mosquitoes in New York, and I felt them in Chicago, but only slightly; the season is over for these pests, but the present unusual weather stirs up a few now and then. As for Indians, I have only seen a few wigwams and one or two horsemen, perfectly peaceable and friendly now, though a few years ago this Gallatin Valley was the scene of many a bloody engagement between them and the settlers, and old-timers have long tales to tell of many terrible affrays. Nor have I yet met with a grizzly, though there are plenty of these fellows, as well as "silver tips" and black bears, up in the mountains.
Last week a big black bear came down through this ranche and found his way to a slaughter-house in the neighbourhood of Bozeman, where he was discovered amusing himself by tearing about the offal. Two butchers in town armed themselves with a couple of rusty old rifles, and starting off on a moonlight night, kept watch for Master Bruin's appearance. Eventually they spied him on the top of the roof of the slaughter-house (a by no means easy roof to get on). They put two balls into him, and he rolled over dead. His skin was being exhibited in Bozeman as we passed through.
While I am on the subject of bears, I may as well tell you another tale just as an eyewitness told it to me.
A few weeks ago a party of miners, returning home after prospecting all summer, were encamped in a fine hunting-ground, up in the mountains near Ross's Peak, lately the favourite resort of Flat-head Indians. They started one morning on a deer and elk hunt, and having separated to scare out the game, one of them suddenly came upon a great grizzly basking in the sun in front of his den. The bear allowed him to approach within a few yards, being apparently in a drowsy state, and the hunter, being a "tenderfoot" (new-comer), did not take the ordinary precautions which experience teaches; but thinking all the bear stories he had ever heard were mere twaddle, imprudently fired in the animal's face, breaking his jaw. This at once aroused the fury of Bruin, and he rushed on the hunter, who succeeded in planting another ball in his shoulder, but this failed to stop him. Being now at such close quarters that another shot was impossible, he tried to jam his rifle down the bear's throat; they then became locked together in a deadly struggle. After wrestling for a few seconds, both hunter and bear fell over a log and down a steep ravine. At this juncture, a dog belonging to one of the party, hearing the row, came up barking, and distracted the bear's attention; the hunter thus succeeded in escaping from the deadly hug and regained his rifle, the stock of which had been split in the first struggle. The bear then started off, feeling, no doubt, that with a broken jaw and a dislocated shoulder the odds were against him. The hunter renewed the chase, and being now joined by the rest of his party, they followed the quarry in this wounded state for eight miles, and eventually killed him.
A short time prior to this incident a man and a boy were up in a cañon a few miles to the north, cutting cordwood. The man saw a cinnamon bear, and fired at him, wounding him in the shoulder. The bear turned on him; and the man having no more ammunition—it being in the boy's charge—threw down his rifle and scrambled up the nearest tree; the bear rushed up after him, caught hold of his leg, and tore his boot off, at the same time tearing the flesh of his leg open to the bone. The man then succeeded in getting beyond the bear's reach.