A Battle Rarely Seen
Late in the fall of 1867, I accompanied the Hon. P. P. Prim, who was District Judge for Jackson and Josephine Counties, Oregon, from Jacksonville to Kerbyville—the county seat of Josephine County—to attend a term of court to be held at Kerbyville in the last named county. The Honorable James D. Fay, and also other lawyers accompanied the Judge to Josephine court. There had been high water and sweeping floods which had rendered the crossing of the Applegate River on the bridge, which was located about two miles above the Applegate's junction with Rogue River, dangerous and impassable. So as we were making the journey on horse back, we crossed Applegate about twenty miles above the bridge and pursued our journey along and over the foothills on the left bank of the river, intending to stop at a hotel on Slate Creek on the left bank of the Applegate, and on the north bank of said creek about two miles from said hotel. Passing across the mouth of a cove in the hills, we heard to our left a noise, and looking in that direction, we saw a female cougar and a mealy-nosed brown bear engaged in a bloody battle. We stopped and watched the fight for about half an hour. The battle ground was on a gentley sloping grass-covered side hill. The bear persistently kept the upper side. The cougar kept in front of him. The cougar was forcing the fighting. The battle proceeded with almost regular rounds. The cougar paced back and forth in front of the bear for a few moments; the bear intently watching her movements, when she would make a spring; the contact was furious. Sometimes they would seize each other with the jaw-hold, and to our astonishment the cougar was more than a match for the bear in this hold, and the bear made every effort to break it—throwing himself upon the ground, and digging furiously into the cougar with the claws of his hind legs. By these means he would speedily break the jaw-hold of the cougar. The hold having been broken, and the combatants having separated, the cougar would pace back and forth in front of the bear for a few moments and then leap upon him again. Sometimes the bear would hug the cougar closely, and use the claws of his hind feet with terrific effect. Thus the fight proceeded. Both were covered with blood. The bear would quietly sit during the intermissions in the fight. As the day was fast waining, we left them still fighting, determining that we would go to Slate creek—cross it—get some rifles from our host, and then return; but when we came to Slate creek, we found it a raging torrent—overflowing its banks, and spreading out over its narrow valley. Our host, anticipating our coming, had selected a place for our crossing of the creek. We had to swim our horses across the dangerous current for some twenty or twenty-five feet, and although we successfully made it, yet we were thoroughly wet. Although our host having hunter's blood in his veins, was anxious to go to the scene of the conflict, yet we so dreaded the crossing and re-crossing of Slate creek that we denied ourselves the pleasure.
On our return about a week afterwards two of us stopped over at our friend's, and went with our host out to the battle ground; but we found no trace of either combatant.
On my return to Jacksonville I wrote up and published an account of the battle—it was signed by all who witnessed the fight—but I have not the manuscript nor its copy.
We all had our opinions of the cause of the conflict. The prevailing opinion was that the bear had been interfering with the young of the cougar.
The lynx, and wildcat may be briefly noted. They are both nocturnal marauders. They are rarely seen in the daytime. Either of them located in a dense copse near the ranch or farm, with a forest-reach beyond, is a pestiferous nuisance which must be abated with a gun, dog, or trap, before either lamb, pig, or chicken is safe. I do not believe in poisoning. It is cowardly and dangerous.
The wildcat is an intractable and untamable animal. His ferocity is never softened under the influence of kindly treatment. He is the concentrated embodiment of spite and viciousness. Chained, it is always dangerous to get within the inner circle of the metallic tether. He is the pest of the deer-hunter. There is no mode of hanging up your game, if you leave it in the woods over night, which is safe from the thieving of this ever-hungry marauder.
On two occasions, I have found him seated on the hams or saddle of my suspended venison, and I have shot him. On the last occasion, I did not kill but severely wound him. I approached him. He was fiercely on the warpath and tried to get to me. I put a bullet through his brain and ended his warlike career.
Two species of wolves are natives of Washington—the everywhere present coyote, and the large dark-gray wolf of the mountains. The coyote does not in any considerable numbers visit the Puget Sound basin, or tributary country west of the Cascade Mountains. His choice habitat is the sage-brush plain, and the grassy undulations of the great Columbia River basin. The mountains and their rough and sunless canyons are the habitat of the large dark-gray wolf. He also loves the depressions in the high mountain ranges where there exists usually an alternation of marsh and thick forest. His dismal howl may nearly always be heard amid the solemn stillness of these places. It was and still is dangerous to tether or hobble your horse in such a place, as the early immigrants learned to their sorrow. Many a fine animal was hamstrung or seriously wounded. Large packs of these wolves often follow the deer, their usual prey, to the foothills and outlying settlements. While the wolf in this country is not considered an animal dangerous to man, yet, when driven from his mountain home by hunger, and he assembles in packs in the foothills and low grounds, he may be and probably is dangerous. An experienced hunting friend of mine of the name of Taylor lived on a ranch, in the early pioneer days, about a mile south of the now busy and prosperous town of North Bend, in King County. This small but fertile valley in which his pioneer home was located, lay near the base of the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. It was his custom, after a light fall of snow, with his trusty rifle in hand, to mount his favorite riding horse, and, with a pack animal at his side, to go to the timber skirting a prairie adjacent to the foothills, to kill from one to three fat bucks, and to return the same day. On one of these occasions, carefully hunting three or four hours for game, he found no deer, but saw plenty of wolf tracks. He concluded that there had been an invasion of his hunting ground by mountain wolves, and a departure of the deer for safer feeding grounds. He immediately commenced his return to the trail where his horses were tied. Soon, however, he heard the patter of feet and saw a slight movement in the brush on every side of him. A closer observation showed that he was encircled, by from fifteen to twenty mountain wolves. Although a man of nerve, he confessed that he was somewhat alarmed. His situation was a novel one to him. He had a muzzle loading rifle, as he had always refused to adopt the repeating rifle because of its alleged want of accuracy. As the wolves were slowly contracting the circle surrounding him, he concluded to tree. He did so, taking his rifle up with him. The wolves formed a circle about the tree and, sitting or slowly moving about, looked intently at him as if in expectation of their coming feast. Solemnly contemplating the situation, and its possible dire results, he concluded to try the effect of a shot upon this hungry pack. Quickly suiting the action to the resolve, he sent a bullet crashing through the brain of one of the larger ones. The animal leaped into the air and fell dead. Its companions rushed upon it and fiercely tore its body to pieces. Finding that his first shot was ineffective for rescue and quickly deciding on a theory different from that which prompted the first shot, he sent a bullet into the abdomen, of one of the sitting and waiting animals. This always produces a stinging, writhing and painful wound. The animal struck, leaped into the air, wheeled around several times, and then, with a dismal and alarming howl, started off, his companions with him, on that "long gallop that can tire the hound's deep hate and the hunter's fire." My friend, thus fortunately relieved from his imprisonment, quickly descended from his perch and hastened with anxious steps to his horses—and then to his home.
The most valuable and useful of all the game family to man, and especially to the pioneer, was and is the deer. Without venison the table of the pioneer would be lacking in one of life's choicest and most sustaining food. Of beef, pork and mutton, in any of their various forms, he had none. The rifle was his purveyor; a table furnished with delicious venison, the realization.