In those days all that a trapper and hunter had to do was to get a few miles out into tall timber, build a good log cabin and hit a permanent job for the season. Deer, bear and fur-bearing animals were so plentiful that it only required a small territory to find game sufficiently plenty to keep the trapper on a lively gait all the time. In those days we made it more a specialty of hunting deer for the profit there was in it. We had built our cabin on the divide between the headwaters of the Cross fork of Kettel Creek and the headwaters of the East Fork of the Sinnamahoning. I had built a few deadfalls and bear pens for bear and also had three or four steel bear traps set, but beech-nuts, chestnuts and other nuts were so plentiful that the bear would not take meat bait and I had no other bait at hand. The bear would pass within a few feet of a trap and pay no attention to the bait.
Now at this time, furs were so low that there was but little to be made from the sale of the pelts of the fox, mink, skunk, etc. But it was my custom to carry one or two steel traps in my pack sack and when I killed a deer, I would make a set or two for the fox, marten or fisher, whichever happened along first. As I have stated I spent the greater part of my time in deer hunting. On this particular day I was following a drove of four or five deer, but the wind was so unsteady and whirling about in puffs so that as near as I could get to a deer was to see his white flag, beckoning me to come on as they jumped a log or some other object. Striking the trail of a bear that had gone back and forth several times, nearly in the same place within the past three or four days, since a light snow had fallen, I was satisfied that it was a bear going back and forth from his lodging quarters to his feeding grounds.
So I left the trail of the deer and took up the trail of the bear, taking the track that I thought had been made last. I did not follow the trail far, which led along the brow of the ridge, when I saw that the several different bear tracks were forming into one trail and making in the direction of several large hemlock trees that had been turned out by the roots and lay in a jumbled up mess. I followed the trail carefully until I was certain that the bear had entered the jungle of timber. Here I worked carefully around the jam of timber until sure that the bear was in the jungle and that it would be impossible for me to get near the bear. The density of brush and undergrowth was such that I would drive the bear out before I could get close enough to Bruin to get a shot at him. And this was a time, when I longed for a pard.
Being convinced that I could do nothing alone, I got out on one side of the trail the bear had made in going back and forth and watched until dark, in hopes that Bruin would come out on his way to his feeding grounds. But in this I was mistaken so was obliged to give up the hunt for the time being and make tracks for the shanty. My camp was about five or six miles from Edgcomb Place, this being the nearest point to where anyone lived, where I might get help to rout Bruin. The Edgcomb Place was a sort of a half way house, it being about fourteen miles either way to a settlement. The stage made one trip a week over this road and stopped at Edgcomb Place for dinner and often some one would come out from town in the stage and stop there for a few days' hunt. It was one of these parties that I was in hopes of getting to help me out in this bear hunt.
I started in the morning before daylight as the stage had gone the Kettel Creek way the day before, which was in my favor of catching help at the hotel. As good luck proved to be on my side, I found a man at the hotel by the name of John Howard, who was stopping there for a few days' hunt. He was more than anxious to join me in the bear hunt. We hastened back to camp so as to get onto the job as quickly as possible. We got to the shanty about noon and got a hasty lunch and started out to wake Bruin up if he was still sleeping where I had left him.
When we got to the jam of timber, we found that he had been to his feeding grounds and had returned to his lodging apartments during the night, so we now thought that we would soon make sure of our game. We located the spot the best we could where we thought Bruin was sleeping and began to cautiously work our way in from opposite sides. It only took a short time to work our way into the jam sufficiently to locate a large root, where Bruin's tracks showed plainly that he was sleeping under this root. We continued to work our way up closer to the root with gun in hand for ready action. But still Bruin did not show up, neither could we hear the least bit of a noise from him.
When we were within a few feet of the root, Mr. Howard on one side and the writer on the other side, suddenly, without any warning whatever, Bruin came out of his hole like a shot out of a gun and nearly landed on Mr. Howard, who sprang backwards to escape him. Mr. Howard's feet became tangled in the thick brush, he fell backwards and before he could regain his feet, Bruin had gone over the brow of the ridge, into the laurel out of sight. Mr. Howard was not able to get in a shot at Bruin, as I was on the other side of the root and on higher ground, I managed to empty both barrels of my rifle at him through the thick brush, but Bruin went on down the hill, through the laurel, apparently unhurt.
After following the trail of Bruin for some distance, we began, now and then, to find a little blood, where the bear had crawled over a log or rubbed against the laurel. We followed him until we found one or two places where he had broken down a few laurel and scratched about in trying to make a bed, so we thought the better plan was to let Bruin go for the night and let him make his bed.
But we did not go to camp empty handed for good luck favored Mr. Howard in killing a good, big deer on our way to the shanty. After leaving the trail of the bear, we followed up a spur of the main ridge that led to camp, Mr. Howard going up one side of the spur while I took the other spur. Just before reaching the top of the spur, I heard Mr. Howard shoot and in a few minutes I heard him shouting for help. When I got across the ridge to where he was, I found him dressing a good sized buck. As it was getting dark we lost no time in taking the entrails out of the deer, cutting a withe with a hook, which we hooked into the lower jaw of the deer. We hooked ourselves to the withe and made lively tracks to the shanty, where we could talk and laugh of the day's hunt.