Inter-Ocean Hunting Tales

by Edgar Fritz Randolph

The big dogs sat around in sullen dignity, particularly avoiding any familiarity with smaller dogs and with each other. Each one seemed to consider himself the hero of the occasion. I have had occasion to observe that the pack would work and fight well together, but after the fray they seemed to be intensely jealous of each other.

Several of the dogs interested me considerably. One of them was called “Old Jim,” a big black-and-tan foxhound, with a deep bass voice which would swell the chorus when the pack was in full cry and sometimes almost drown it. Old Jim would occasionally provoke the not over angelic temper of the guide by leading the whole pack after a coyote. On one occasion he had distinguished himself by whipping a coyote, and whenever one of these “sassy” prairie wolves would show itself, he could not resist the temptation of giving chase, leading the whole pack after him.

Any one acquainted with Western hunting knows how useless it is for dogs to attempt to outrun a coyote. The coyotes would frequently come close to the pack, if there was no man nearby, as though to provoke a chase for our special annoyance. The dogs, however, would never run the coyotes’ trail; they were broken of that.

Another interesting acquaintance was a dog called Turk, a cross-breed, but a very strong and stubborn fighter, all seamed with scars. Turk kept near the guide, and did not run with the pack except when there was something in view. He was a good-natured dog ordinarily, but an ugly customer in a scrap.

There was another dog called Boxer which had a very keen scent; long before the rest could discover a trail one could hear Boxer’s knowing yelps, which would gradually develop into a chorus, as one by one the other dogs would detect the scent as it became warmer. Boxer had more judgment than any other dog in the pack, and was very good in puzzling out a broken trail.

We spent several days longer at the ranch on Strawberry Creek. While there the guide purchased a broken-down horse to feed to the dogs. It is not a particularly easy matter to keep twenty-one dogs supplied with food. When the horse was led out for execution the dogs became intensely excited and seemed to know “what was up.” The moment the animal was shot, and almost before it fell to the ground, the whole pack of dogs, big and small, was tearing eagerly at the carcass. No doubt the habit of attacking wild animals as soon as they have been shot developed their naturally savage dispositions.

At the suggestion of the guide, we decided to go to a ranch near the Bear River Cañon, two days’ journey from our present location. When we arrived at the ranch, after a long day’s ride on horseback, we found the ranchman’s wife keeping house; her husband had left for several days. She seemed in no condition to entertain us on account of a bad headache, but kindly offered to do whatever she could. We volunteered to help her out with her domestic duties. First of all I prescribed for her headache; the medicine went down the wrong way, which caused her to vomit, after which she declared she felt better. My professional pride did not permit me to enlighten her as to the unexpected result of my prescription. I say professional pride, because I went by the nickname of the Doctor on account of an emergency case I carried with me.

I made myself useful in doing most of the chores usual on such occasions, while the guide held the baby, which howled incessantly. The expression on his face while performing this duty was as angelic as I have seen it when Old Jim would lead the whole pack off on a chase after a coyote against his impotent protest. When the meal was served, two other children turned up, one a little girl nine years old, who was censured for not taking care of the baby; the other a boy of about eleven, who was particularly good, according to his mother’s account of him. Our first day’s experience with these interesting children caused us to reverse the parental opinion. When we returned from our hunt the evening of the following day, the guide missed his lasso; the good little boy had tried to lasso a cat which was selecting some delicacies from a tin can, the cat took a sudden leap to escape the lasso, and in doing so shoved its head into the can and cinched the lasso round its body; cat, can and lasso disappeared in the sage brush and were never found.

The country around Bear River Cañon is very rough and picturesque. The cañon is steep and cuts a great gorge in the mountain, and is very difficult to cross. In one place we were headed off by the precipice, which must have been fully a thousand feet in depth; I rolled a stone off the edge, and its descent seemed to take a considerable time. A shower of broken fragments and dust, followed a second or two afterward by a dull crash which reverberated through the cañon, announced the termination of its fall.

The dogs finally succeeded in jumping a lion, running right upon him. From a distance I could see the chase along the side of a mountain until it turned in the direction of the cañon. The lion did not seem to be going very fast while covering the ground by long leaps, which he appeared to do without much effort; but when I looked at the pack, which did not seem to be gaining on him, they were straining every nerve, and looked as if they were “going it for all they were worth.” No doubt the easy gait of the lion made his speed deceptive. The lion took refuge upon a ledge of the precipice some fifteen feet below the crest. When we arrived at the spot the dogs were raising an awful din in their impotent frenzy, as they looked down upon the smiling countenance of the lion, which was displaying all his teeth. It was thought inadvisable to shoot the lion on the ledge where he was, because there was a good chance of his dying in an inaccessible spot, so we dropped stones on him, hoping to drive him out of that place and compel him to run to the top of the precipice and take refuge in a tree.