Black Beaver, the Trapper

by James Campbell Lewis; George Edward Lewis

I steered my bronco up the hill and started over the trap line. I had not gone far when I heard the jingleing of a trap chain; and the growl of a bear. I hastily dismounted, drew my rifle and advanced in the direction of the noise. Emerging from a clump of brush I stood face to face within forty five feet of a good old grizzley which weighed 1,400, pounds. He dropped upon his haunches and looked straight at me. I pulled my gun drew a careful aim at the only place to shoot a Grizzley between the eye and ear; fired, he fell and quivered, I thought him dead as a mummy and I set down my gun and went up took the clamps and removed the trap and just then old bruin rooled over and quick as a wink hit me a spat in the face that knocked me two or three summersaults broke in my left cheek and knocked out four teeth and cut my tongue half off. I struck the ground like a flying squirrel feet first: and after a moment of time to get my bearings I faced the music; the old dog arose and made for me like a mad bull. I quickly pulled my old sixshooter and began to pump lead into him at the rate of about an ounce a second. Bruin seemed to take his pills with comparative ease, when my shells was exhausted he was still coming—What remained for me to do—I drew my hunting knife and climbed him like a monkey on a cheese. This was foolish and dangerous for I got a bite while bruin nearly got a belly full, I cut him deeply in the lungs but he nearly with one sweep of his old paw tore out my whole inwards. he cut me deep from three inches below the chin clean down to the abdomen. He wore his nails uncomfortably long and had a great spread to his claws. I then knew something must be doing or I would be done for. I made a desperate effort to secure my gun which was loaded. bruin seemed to tumble what I was up to and pressed hard, however with but one blow in the left side and another on my hip to his credit. I caught the big gun it was a 49–90—and struck thirty two hundred pounds, I swung it around within three feet of the star in his breast pulled the trigger—and the steel capped ball bored a hole through the old hog big as an alarm clock. The fight was over, I feel with bruin I wakened five days later in a lath and plastered room with my son and both partners working over me. I was much surprised when they told me I had enjoyed the tussle five days before. I could not talk my tongue was fastened up so it might heal, I was all bandages and plaster paris I layed here seven weeks, then the boys carried me back to camp where I gave orders and gradually recuperated. I never recovered from the blow on my hip it will bother me till the end. However there is no great loss without some small gain—this lame spot always serves me as a borometer.

I also received another benefit I had some silver deposited in my face to straight up my sunken cheek. hence am never busted. I have been in several bad rows with both four-footed beasts and two footed beasts, but this was at least as lively a scrap as I ever got into. and all because I was careless. We lifted camp early in March sold our fur and the whole of us went down to 'Frisco to see the sights. Here we studied the history of China in the faces of the moon-eyed heathens, enjoyed the curious haunts of humanity the entire summer.

That fall I hired Old Ed Scott, Bert Terrell, Jack Troy and ferd Gotch. Myself and the Kid made up and we calculated quite a decent gang. I think we were by far the largest and best gang in the west.

I had four hired men, Eleven head of horses, two wagons, four tents, Six riding saddles, four pack saddles, twenty four guns and revolvers, six hundred steel traps and cooking utensels enough for a dozen men. My expenses were a thousand dollars a month—Our chief game was rat, mink, otter, coyotes, and grey wolves, we marched up North Platte to Raw-hide creek—and set traps for fur—We moved once a week and averaged to take about one hundred and sixty pelts a day.

When we reached the Raw-hide about fifteen miles from North Platte river in Lormey Co. I caught a monstrous grey wolf in a trap. I knew the virtue of the trap it was a New-House noumber four. I was armed with a 49-90 winchester but refrained from shooting him because the ball tore too big a hole in the hide. I attempted to knock him in the head with my hatchet, I saw I had a good high holt on him so I stepped up closer to him—when the darn skunk made a leap at my windsucker; the trap chain broke and he lit on my left arm and got busy eating meat. My gun was johnie on the spot, for several days I carried my arm in a buckskin sack meanwhile I concluded I would shoot game not trying other experiences.

After a few days we reached Hat creek, where we were told that a Sheep herder had been driven into camp by a silver tipped Grizzley. The ranchmen wanted us to camp till we killed the old boss. So I detailed Ed Scott and a new man I had recently hired by the name of Charley Whippel to go with me—and I left the rest to run trap lines and watch things. We rode out toward the Cheyenne river. Just as we reached Cow creek and crossed over and was about twenty rods up the slope we heard a bear; we stopped and suddenly old silver as free as Bryans Silver issue; descending the hill in our direction. We all opened fire at once and spoiled his fun to quick to mention. We secured his skin head and all including his tailbone and paws the ranchmen sent it to Denver to a Texiderment and he sold it to the Chicago Public Musium. We broke camp the following day and started for Beaver creek here we made three settings, then we broke again and moved to the head of the Belle Fourche river. trapping coyote and wolf. from there to powder river, and then on to tongue river. We broke camp that spring at Dayton, Wyoming; and for novelty hired out to herd cattle for the U.X. Cattle Co. We rode here on the general roundup, quit our job and set out for the Big horn basin. Crossing the main range of the Big horn mountains we went up Canon Creek looking for trapping for another season. We followed down the creek till we reached Big horn river; then we swung around and followed up the Bighorn to the end.

We had quite a serious time getting our pack horses over the Owl-creek mountains. We now turned our course a trifle and struck for the head of the big sandy, then followed this stream till we reached Green river Then rode across to the Yampah river.

While riding down the Yampah we were accosted by two men who wanted us to hire out to help them round up several hundred wild horses. We had never before rode on a horse ranch and we wished to be full fledged so we consented. We had a lively time. The Kid was lighter and more supple than I; and got out of it some easier than I. I had picked out a rangey lank bronco; he would quit the earth and climb the sky like a flying machine; and drop down and strike the rocks with his legs stiff as a post. He would then spin like a top several hundred times play razor back and sun-fish, His head and tail would touch one instant between his legs; and the next instant over his back. I held my breath while he exercised all his tricks then he plunged off while I pounded him with my broad brimmed sombrero. The foreman said Erve Bullard could not play glue much better than I. We had many daring and pleasing episodes this season roping horses busting and branding.

We quit riding early that summer and spent some time traveling. I visited the grave of Calamity Jane. Wild Bills Wife; and His grave too. Went to the Little bighorn to Custers Tomb. Over to Nothfield Minn. where the Youngers were correlled. Down to Scouts Rest Ranch—Or Codys Ranch. over to Cheyenne to Old Tom Horns Rope Party. And saw Bob of Austrailia put it all over Jim Corbett. I went to Denver to hear Frank James talk, and several other things we enjoyed before Christmas.