--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Grant, Carter E. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 30 number: 8 published: 1927-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Grant, Carter E., “A Bear in Camp,” *Improvement Era* 30, no. 8 (June 1927): 708–716." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3008unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3008unse start_page: 708 end_page: 716 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1927-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3008unse publication_year: 1927 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1927, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Bear in Camp A BEAR IN CAMP By Carter E. Grant, Principal of Jordan L. D. S. Seminary Seldom in these modern times does a person, with no weapon except a twenty-two rifle and a club, have the rare thrill of fighting a bear in the middle of the night. Here is Fred Allen's story of how it all happened while he and Joe Powers were in the Wasatch Range of the Rocky Mountains, prospecting for a long-lost gold mine: The sun was just hiding itself behind the western peaks, began Allen, when 'we arrived, hungry and tired, at the Black Pine dip- ping corral, high up at a mountain meadow on the North Fork divide. The place was a one-horse affair and gave little hope for anything much better. Here we were in the very tops of the mountains. And to our joy, we found that the mouth of the long- looked-for canyon was right at hand. Yes, there it was, even more wild and rugged than all the stories ever told about it. But of its bears, including silver-tip grizzlies, of which we had so recently heard so much, we, as yet, had but little proof. But, before I pro- ceed further, I want you to know we were not prepared for bears, and hoped we would not see one. We secured the privilege of sleeping for the night in a tumble- down shed that opened off toward Thimble-berry Canyon. Ed Gastling, an inexperienced, young Englishman, who had summer charge of the place, was delighted to see us and to get some of the latest news from the outside world, even though at first he did eye us rather suspiciously. Gastling seemed to know very little about the old mine for which we were searching, except that it was caved in and grown over with shrubs and willows. He did, nevertheless, know something about bears! And, much to our delight, just as the dusk of evening closed about us, be impressively related and motioned out his story of being chased out of Thimble-berry canyon by a huge, silver-tip grizzly the Summer previous. Ed's expression, as he gazed out at us through thick spectacles, and wide-opened, talkative eyes, looked every act a frenzied, hatless Englishman, jumping past rock and stumps, flying down a difficult trail a few rods ahead of an angry bear. He more than affirmed all that the stage driver had spun out tc us. "Then," he affirmed, as he finished his story and pointed in the shadow of the evening toward the mouth of the dark, lonesome canyon, "I built a fence above the mountain meadow there, and, you bet, my cows never got into that canyon again. In fact, I have never had any reason for going up there since; and I don't know as any of the herders have, either." As Gastling bade us good-night, he turned his glasses upon us A BEAR IN CAMP 709 again and added in a really friendly mood, "You fellows better sleep here in the shed nights. You couldn't get me to sleep in a little tepee up in that canyon all night, no sir! not me, not for any gold mine." By sunrise next morning, we were across the mountain meadow; through the fence, and in the mouth of Thimble-berry canyon. We soon found the old, forsaken trail, but the usual heavy snows of Winter had so smashed the willows and brush into ihe path that it was with difficulty we were able to make much headway. Neverthe- less, by winding in and out and across the noisy creek and back again, we covered the quarter of a mile up to the old workings. As we sat on our packs across the creek from the old dump, we had a splendid view of the scenery. Nothing had been exaggerated! The canyon was wild and deep. It seemed the very birth-place of exquisite originality — elaborate, fascinating. No trace of human hands met the eye. Even the gentle breeze among the pines and rocks above us sounded vacant and lonesome-like. Only those who have viewed so new a world can appreciate what we saw. After shaping up camp, we found our Dakota tepee was just large enough for the supplies and powders; in fact, it crowded them both a little. It was now decided that I would better sleep at the shed, a half mile below. We soon learned for sure that there were grizzlies in Thimble- berry! Each night as I left camp, I tried to persuade Joe to roll up his bedding and come sleep With me at the corral, but he only laughed at my fear and pointed to his twenty-two rifle, exclaiming, "Here is my protection." A few days after our arrival, while staking out a claim just above camp, we found fresh tracks of a huge grizzly and those of her two half-grown cubs. Moreover, the very next morning below camp, I ran into the same tracks in the trail. On such occasions, I just naturally peeked about, almost expecting to see something. Then, besides, I was nervous for Joe's sake, for I never knew, until I ac- tually saw camp, whether I should find it still there or not. Although Joe was rough and rugged and much accustomed to a rather hard life, he possessed an admirable sense of fidelity and tender- ness toward his young wife and two kiddies at home. I hadn't for- gotten seeing them bid him good-bye, and I knew how severely any accident to Joe would hit the little group. So, putting all thoughts together, I now positively insisted, "Joe, you absolutely know it is not safe for you to sleep off up here alone! Those three grizzlies are just prowling about, watching for a chance to do some mischief. If, one of these nights, the old lady and her cubs happen to take a liking for some camp-life, you'll be in for trouble, and a whole blamed peck of it, too!" My arguments, however, did no good. He had set his mind to stay, and stay he would. Nevertheless, he always made up. a good log fire which stayed alive until toward day-break. He did tell me, 710 IMPROVEMENT ERA though, that on several occasions he had heard noises out on the side- hill at night. Well, on this particular evening, we finished our work rather late. After supper -Avas over, we sat by the fire telling wild tales until it grew quite dark and shadowy. "Oh — ho!" yawned Powers, as I arose rather hurriedly to make tracks for my sleeping quarters, "here is where I roll in without any extra fire. I'm so blamed tired, if a whole herd of bears should come snooping into camp, I • wouldn't open my eyes." "Don't be too dad-burned sure!" I exclaimed, as I reluctantly called "pleasant dreams!" and left Joe stretched at full length before our little supper fire. Hastening down the dark, winding, over-grown trail, I found a peculiar sense of fear seizing me. I peered ahead through the thick bushes, and, at times, even back of me, as if I really thought I were followed. I made good time and was much relieved when I stepped out into the mountain meadow that led a quarter of a mile away to the shed. As I turned and looked back, I exclaimed, "Great - Scott, that's the biggest bunch of chills I have had since I was a kid!" But I did not know then that I had plenty more of them coming up just ahead of me. After talking with Ed Gastling at the stable, for a while, I went to the shed and drawled up pn the coarse hay to shape up things for the night. From the large open place where I was making my bed, I could see the dark mountains and the dim outline of the deep, black canyons. As I looked out into the night, it hardly seemed possible that there was a little camp and a human soul hidden in their vastness. "You're a fool, Joe!" I began vigorously comment- ing to myself, as ,1 stirred up the hay beneath my quilts. Then, all of a sudden, above the noise I was making, I caught the fading cry of a strange howl, or long shout, coming from the mountains. Animal, or human? Heavens, how I chilled with anticipative fear as I dropped my bedding and stood breathlessly listening, with every nerve strained toward Thimble-berry canyon. Instantly a voice in real English brogue from the stable door shouted, "Say, did you hear that?" "Hear it! I should say I did. What was it?" "I'll be blamed if I know!" Ed declared, with a touch of misgivings in his voice, as he came scrambling up beside me. Then we both stood anxiously looking and listening. In a low voice Gastling interrupted, "Say, was that an animal, or did it sound human to you?" Such a suggestion running into my already fearful imagination, set the nervous chills racing. "No," I finally protested slowly, almost against myself, "I hardly think that sounded like a human call. But it's rather peculiar it stopped so suddenly." And then, after another wait, I inquired, "Do you think we should go up to camp?" A BEAR IN CAMP 711 "Tonight?" He half echoed, as he seated himself on the quilts and turned his spectacles out toward the dark canyon. "Why, Joe would take us for fools," he finally added. After talking it all over in subdued voices, we decided it must have been a wolf or some other animal howling. Then, again, each engaged in his own thoughts, we sat in silence. "Heck," began Gastling, with a slight tremor in his voice, "you couldn't hire me to stay up there alone; beside there being bears in Thimble-berry, just over the ridge in Rock Creek, there are mountain lions. You can see the ridge from here. Well, last Fall just before I broke camp for the Winter, three different nights, I heard a lion roaring on that hill there. And, then, Shaws actually saw a big, cat-like fellow creeping across their meadows about a mile below here. Oh, they're in there all right, and if Powers had any sense, he would never risk his life by insisting on staying up there alone." Again he rehearsed the story of his fleeing down Thimble-berry's rough trail, past the old mine, where Joe was now camped, and out into the mountain-meadow clearing where I had so recently crossed. I got the effect for sure! As we again listened in silence, everything seemed hushed of its usual daylight noises. The various night sounds from the deep canyons and the dark, lonesome mountains, some distinct and close, others inarticulate and far away, all came drifting to our susceptible ears. Nearby on the hill-side, every now and then, we heard the sharp, chattering bark of a pair of noisy coyotes, while from some distant, bald knoll came the plaintive lullaby of another. At in- tervals, from out the quaking asps and willows back- of the barn, some mountain night-bird whistled its pathetic and half apologetic call, now and then to be answered by its mate over in the creek bottom. Finally, as Gastling arose to leave, he commented rather posi- tively, "One of these mornings when you reach camp, you are going to find your friend all doubled in a heap. I wish he would sleep here after this." So saying, he slid down and left me alone for the night. For an age I sat listening, looking, and imagining all sorts of trouble, all the while keeping the quilts pulled up around me to keep out the chilly, mountain breeze. As I looked, a dark object came toward me from the meadow; "a huge grizzly, of course!" I thought. My hair began standing. It wasn't Powers. Now, as it came closer, I made it out for sure — a two-year-old heifer! "Thank goodness!" I exclaimed. And again I realized how helpless Powers would be if a grizzly should visit him. I finally lay down, but always with my best ear toward Thimble- berry's dark, shadowy canyon. Time wore on. Sleep seemed out of the question. Sitting up a dozen different times, I resolved to get the Englishman and strike out for camp. Then, after running it all over again and again, I would decide that the cry must have been that of 712 IMPROVEMENT ERA a wolf; but in the very next breath I would chide myself for staying at the shed. At last I dropped off into weird dreams', many times worse than my wakeful imaginations. Several times, as I aroused myself from these horrible night-mares, I would be half sitting up in bed, staring out into the darkness. I even dreamed that fool heifer was a real bear, that it climbed up close beside me, that I couldn't move a peg until I felt itst rough paw in my face. Then, how I threw covers and fought pillows until I awoke! And thus the night wore away. At, last, sure enough, daylight was here. My eyes searched everything before me; the meadow, the mouth of the canyon, and THE FESTIVE BEAR IN HIS NATURAL HABITAT even the mountains1 in every direction. I really expected to spot disorder somewhere. Seeing no signs of disturbance, I quickly slid down from the hay and hurried to the shack. Bang, bang, bang! went my knocks on the shanty door. "What's up? What is it?" rang out the Englishman's alarmed voice as he popped out of bed. "Say," I called, "I wonder if I may take your gun up the canyon with me this morning?" "Yes sir, to be sure; shells, too. But this blamed gun's not A BEAR IN CAMP 713 much for bear," he continued as he handed them out the door. "Just a single shot. Yet it might help out if you're caught in a pinch. I've heard of 'em killing bears with a shotgun. Heard anything more?" "Not a thing," I admitted as I quickly slipped a shell into the barrel and hurried away. I could hear the Englishman still talking as I turned out of sight past the corner of the shed. A few minutes later, with my gun ready for immediate use, and another shell ready in my hand, I began winding among the shadowy clumps of thick saplings and willows in the creek bottom. My usual early morning blitheness, which was generally keenly vibrant with whistling or singing, had fled. A nervous sense of duty held its place. I was not particularly cold, yet the chills kept piling in. At each opening I peered toward camp with longing hopes that, as usual, I should see fresh smoke from the morning fire. At each bend I grew more uneasy; I carefully scanned the trail as I proceeded. The whole truth would in a moment be told, for I was now at the last sharp turn which brought me within the clearing, not thirty feet from the tepee. I was trembling; how the creek roared; every nerve seemed strained for what I might see. For a moment I hesitated at the edge of the opening and set my eyes upon the tent door. It was untied. One swift glance told me something was wrong! I ran forward. Near the dead camp- fire ashes, lying in the dirt, were the kettles and frying pan. I hurried to the tent door and threw it open. Empty! I was not a bit surprised. Being frightened hardly expresses my feeling. Raising my gun, I stared into the bushes on every side. "Great Scott, there has been a fight!" I exclaimed. For there lay Joe's rifle stock, splintered and broken. A little farther toward the trail was the blood-stained barrel. The grass and weeds were mashed. There, too, lay a heavy, used club. Things were spattered with red. Here was the death struggle! A new frenzy of reality fairly surged through me. Shouting now at the top of my voice, getting louder with each call, L cried "Oh — Joe! Oh — Powers! Joe — Oh, Joe!" The in- cessant roar of the creek mocked my voice. Again and again I fairly screamed out my calls. But it was of no use. There came no answer, not even an echo. It now all flashed back to me; I had heard Joe's last shout the night before. Things fairly whirled. What should I do? No one can ever guess all that flashed momentarily through my head. Hold ing tightly to my gun, I took a few steps through the bushes up the trail. Something had been dragging, and here was more blood. Following the trail, I crossed the creek, paying little attention whether I waded pr stepped on the rocks. As there were no signs in the dirt on the other side, I hurried back. Here the trail turned abruptly up the hill through the trees and bushes. I hesitated. What should I do? What could I do? My help was too late. I could plainly 714 IMPROVEMENT ERA see that. Eight hours before, and I might have been in time. The fight was now settled. Alone, I feared the terrible task before me. A thousand ghastly scenes flew through my brain. I hurried back to camp to think. —I felt I must secure the aid of the Englishman, and, possibly, a horse or two. I picked up the battered gun. What a struggle it showed. I knew Joe Powers enough to realize that every nerve and muscle must have fairly broken before he went down beneath his overpower- ing enemy. "Oh, why wasn't I here? How shall I send word to his wife and those kiddies?" These thoughts all cut me with im- pressive bitterness, i Try as I would I couldn't keep the tears out of my eyes. I had heard the call; others* would know it; everyone would blame me. Those condemning facts went deep into my already dis- turbed feelings. With my wits half fled, I seemed hardly to be myself. Again I looked about me. Then, murmuring through my set teeth, I declared, "That damned old grizzly's done this! She and those infernal cubs will pay for it!" My right senses seemed to be returning. In place of fear, I began feeling almost furious. Although I knew something of the domineering fighting methods of an old she grizzly; that at close quarters her over-powering strength could hardly be reckoned with; with it were these rough-shod char- acteristics that made her the hated beast of her tribe; still I was determined to try and atone for my wrong, and to do it alone. "Can it still be possible," I reasoned, "that off on some lonely side-hill, torn and bleeding, at this moment, Joe is still alive and is plainfully crawling toward me?" My liveliest imaginations startled me. Grasping my single-barrel gun, I sprang forcefully and deter- minedly up the trail. As I turned off deliberately up the hill and through the brush, I knew I was chasing trouble and fully expected to find it. I had taken but a dozen paces, when up came my gun all cocked and ready for use. There was a dragging noise above me through the brush. It was coming toward me. Just then Joe came into full view, dragging a pole. Down went his stick, and up went both hands as he shouted, "For heaven's sake don't shoot! What's the matter?" As I quickly turned the gun aside and lowered the hammer, Joe came down to the place where I stood. He did not have to guess twice to balance things up. He knew I had seen the trouble in camp and was now on the blood-stained trail. Placing an assuring yet sympathetic hand on my shoulder, he commented, "I am very sorry you arrived before I got things straightened up a bit. I expected to be back before you got there. You're extra early this morning! I guess you got a hunch something was wrong." I tried to say something, but a lump in my throat held it back and my husky voice sounded strange and peculiar, about the way I felt and looked. "Come down to camp," he exclaimed, as he stepped A BEAR IN CAMP 715 back for his dry pole, "come, and I'll tell you all that happened." "Well," began Joe, calmly, as he struck a match to some pine splinters and blew the blaze into a flaring flame, "you see I had a visitor last night. I -guess you saw how I fixed that little gun of mine. That club though, that's the thing I finished it with." "Finished it!" I half echoed. "Did you really kill it?" "Kill it, why, I should say so. It lies over in the trees just above where we met." Again he paused and began putting more wood on the fire. "For goodness sakes, go ahead." I almost commanded. "You see," he explained, "when you left for the shed last night, I did not bother to rake up any big wood. I just made a rousing brush fire and rolled in. Not long after I had been in bed, I was rather startled by the finest specimen of a wolf's howl you ever heard. The blamed thing came out on that ridge right there and let off a real forest screech. I sat up in my tepee and waited for another call but it didn't come." "Yes," I interrupted understandingly. "Goodness knows I heard it!" "Lying back down again," he continued, "I was- soon fast asleep and knew nothing more until I heard something walking in those dry leaves a few yards from the tent. The wolf was the first thing that entered my mind, but when the clumsy thing ran into my tepee guide rope, bobbing the tent about, I knew then it wasn't a wolf. Fearing I should attract attention, I lay mighty near breathless. After reaching the fire-place, the animal, as you see, stirred things about a bit. And then I heard it licking the bacon grease from the frying-pan. I still thought I should get by without its coming to the tent, if my visitor were an ordinary black bear; but some- how or other, I had it in mind that it was old Mrs. Grizzly, and that her cubs were nearby, waiting to be called to the feast. "If all our supplies, including that blamed bacon and honey, had not been with me in the tent, 1 should not have been half so nervous. I knew if that infernal huzzy turned her nose my way, she would know everything we had in our grub-box. "In a few minutes, the licking and noise among the kettles ceased. It seemed an age before I heard the next sound. The roar of the creek kept me from hearing all that wasi going on. And then, with a little, sneezing, snuff-like sound, the beast came right up to the tent, not a foot from my head. I'll always believe I could feel its warm breath right through the canvas. Realizing that one stiff root with its head or one swift swat with a paw would leave me without any covers, I sat up in a hurry. "Again everything was still, for when I moved, it stepped aside a little. Back it came, however, and I was sure it had smelled its dinner. I knew a bear's sturdy appetite for bacon and sweets; that this crazy passion would not let it budge until it got its fill. 716 IMPROVEMENT ERA "I guess I was excited, all right, for I fumbled about until I got hold of that twenty-two rifle. Quickly slipping in a shell, I decided — well, to tell the truth, I hardly knew just what I was going to do. At that moment it reached under the tent and got hold of that heavy, brown wrapping paper and began trying to pull it out from under me. Say, I just whirled the gun onto its paw or nose and came mighty near pulling the trigger. Realizing, however, that to wound the enemy might end the fight in a hurry, I let the hammer back down. As it now seemed bent on coming in, I felt I must fight it and do it quickly, and I did not care about handling it all wound up in tent affairs, either. "A little light, at that moment, coming from the last quarter of the moon, threw a dark shadow of the animal against the tent. It didn't look to be a huge affair, possibly a cub. Mrs. Bruin, likely, was near camp and would be along any minute. I admit I was nervous all right. Use the gun for a club, my swift thoughts sug- gested, and smash that thing across the back with such force that you'll uncouple its vertebra! Believing such was possible, for there seemed nothing else to do, I nervously untied the tent and quietly pulled the shell from my gun. "Ready now for the fight, I slipped stealthily out into the dark- ness, and with the rifle barrel gripped in my hands, I peered around the canvas. There the thing was, standing broad-side close to me with its snooping nose down at the bottom of the tent. In the dark- ness I couldn't tell what it was. I did not wait, however, to be seen. I grasped the gun more tightly, then giving a full swing, I brought the rifle down on the beast's back with a thud. The stock flew to pieces. The animal gave a little groan-like cry and went backward into those bushes. Dropping the gun, I grabbed up that club and followed with wallops that would have killed an elephant. Heavens, you should have seen me fight. My home-run smashes would have put Babe Ruth to shame. Blamed near made mince meat out of it before I took a breathing spell. "What I had I did not know, but I knew full well it was deader than a door nail. You know how cloudy and dark it was, except now and then when the tiny moon peeked through the clouds a little. But I could now see a little better. There I stood, bare-headed, bare- footed, in my underclothes, gripping that big club covered with the mix-up. I felt like a conqueror indeed. I reached out and poked the beast over somewhat. I leaned down to take a good look. Then, dropping my weapon in a hurry, I fairly shouted in surprise, "Good heavens! I've killed a porcupine!" A Great Horned Owl 'A wise old owl, when the night was dark, Sat on an oak in Zion Park. The more he saw the less he spoke, The less he spoke the more he heard: Why can't we be like that wise old bird?'