To the Editor:
    I ran across a copy of your paper a few days ago, and it brought back to my mind the good old days when I lived in Jackson County and wrote items for the Medford Mail, then owned and published by Bliton and York.
    There is a warm spot in my heart for the Mail, and I am enclosing a check for two dollars to pay for the weekly one year. I am known by all the oldtimers in Medford, Ashland and Jacksonville, and have written a number of bear stories which have been published in the Ashland papers and also in Forest and Stream and the Wide World magazine. I do not take great credit for being a bear hunter, as the most of the glory belongs to "Old Trailer," one of the best bear dogs on earth.
    My old chummies up there like awful well to read these stories and I might write one for the Medford Mail Tribune sometime in the future, if it would be agreeable.
Medford Mail Tribune, November 17, 1920, page 4


    At the head of the south fork of Smith River in Del Norte County, California, is one of the best and most wonderful hunting countries on the Pacific Coast; not only is there worlds of big game, such as bear, cougar, elk, and deer but some of the most beautiful scenery on earth. And also some of the best camping places with worlds of grass high as a horse's back and water pure as the driven snow. It is here that I am going to take the readers with me on one of the most thrilling hunts I ever experienced and when you get back to civilization again, I hope that you will be so well pleased that every year you will want to take the trip in reality. And I know you will not be disappointed on the trip that I am now going to tell you about.
    I had with me Joe Skeeters, an old-time resident of Althouse Creek in the southern part of Josephine County, Oregon, who is well known all over Southern Oregon as a number one hunter and guide, and I will say right here that anyone who reads this story and wishes to take the same trip that we did could do no better than to take Joe along, as he is perfectly familiar with all the best camping places and knows exactly where to go to get all kinds of big game. We had with us on this trip several pack horses and our two saddle horses and my two famous bear dogs, Trailer and Ranger.
    Our first day out landed us at Youngs Valley, a large prairie high up in the mountains surrounded by high peaks, the most noted of which is Preston Peak, one of the highest peaks in the Siskiyou Range. Here we found grass up to a horse's belly and over sixty acres of it, and a beautiful camping place. The next day we arrived at Bear Basin by noon and got to where we were going to establish our permanent camp about three o'clock in the afternoon. And such a camp! I have often wondered if there was a more beautiful camp on the face of the earth. A level bench with scattering trees and grass everywhere all around us and also a fine spring of water within a few yards of camp. The scenery around near and in sight of this camp is beautiful beyond description. Near where our camp was [there was] a lovely lake about half a mile wide in solid rock. To the west, only a few miles on an air line, the Pacific Ocean looms up in plain view and now and then a steamer can be seen plowing its way through the waters. To the north and south and back of you are numerous high rocky peaks with canyons full of snow. Taking it altogether, I believe it is one of the best places to go on a hunting trip there is on the Pacific Coast. The first thing Joe and I did was to take our guns and strike out for a hunt and I know the readers will be surprised when I tell you that before sundown we had killed five big bucks, the smallest one a four-pointer, and three of these within less than a half mile of camp. There was deer, bear and elk sign everywhere and we found where the elk [had] great wallows pawed out in some places. In fact we soon discovered that we were in a regular hunter's paradise, and it is yet, for that matter. The first hard work we did the next morning was to get those big bucks in and take care of them, which took us the better part of the day. The next morning we took the dogs with us, as we were after bear now, and I told Joe we would have to let the deer go as it would not do to try to hunt deer and bear at the same time. We went out southwest around the hillside for probably a mile or more without finding any sign that was fresh enough for the dogs to follow, when suddenly we came to a large swamp and upon looking across we saw a big bear going out of the swamp on the opposite side. We stood and watched him until he disappeared over the ridge, then we decided to go around above until we [were] past the swamp and then go down and put the dogs after him. We did not get far, however, until we saw another going along around the hillside, a little lower down than the other one. "Gee whiz," says Joe, "this must be a good day for bear." And he had not more than got the words out of his mouth when out came another one. This was a big black fellow, and as he wandered along he took time to feed on the wild clover that was thick everywhere, entirely unconscious of any danger that might be lurking near. But alas! for Mr. Bruin; his doom was sealed for he was soon to have a rude awakening from an enemy he had never met before.
    Two of the most ferocious and best-trained dogs on earth. We could have shot him from where we stood but as the ground was favorable we could not resist the temptation to give the dogs a chance at him, neither one of which had winded him, and were not in a position to see him as the grass was high all around us. I called Trailer to me, and taking him by the front paws, I raised him up until he stood on his hind feet and then I pointed in the direction of the bear and got him to look down that way. It was a few seconds before he got his eyes on him, but when he did those paws were jerked out of my hands mighty suddenly and away he went, the other dog following him. Neither one opened and in less time than it takes to tell it they were upon him, and if ever anyone saw a surprised bear, it was this one. As Trailer came up in front of him he reared back on his haunches with both forepaws up, ready to strike, and gave out one of the most awful squawls you over heard, then dropped down and started to go, but was instantly stopped by Trailer who sprang forward and catching him by the ham gave him a yank. That made him swing round and strike out viciously but Trailer was not there and just then Ranger got him; from that on it was one continual performance that was worth traveling a long way to see. In the meantime Joe and I were making our way down in that direction as fast as we could, but they kept him so busy that he did not discover us until we were up to within thirty steps of them. Then he gave a terrific snort and tore off down the hill towards the swamp, regardless of dogs or anything else. They both seized him by the hams now but he did not take the time to turn to knock them loose. Just then the Winchester began to crack, Bang. Bang, Bang, and over he went and kept on rolling for several feet until he brought up against a bush and lay there dead. Two bullets had gone through his heart. He was a beautiful black bear and very fat. We dressed him and went on down to where we had seen the other one go over the hill and when they got the scent of the track they were off like a shot. By the time we got around on top of the ridge where we had seen him go over they had got down across the gulch and were going like a streak up the other slide. They soon crossed the next little ridge and down in the next gulch they overtook him and the racket commenced. We could hear them going after him fierce for a while and we began to think we had another racket on our hands when all at once the noise ceased and we stopped and listened a few minutes and then we heard them commence to bark up the tree. We lost no time in getting around there and found that he had gone up a big fir tree about 50 feet and had ensconced himself on a big limb and was taking it easy. We pulled up and both shot for the heart. At the crack of the guns he came rolling out and was dead in a few seconds after hitting the ground This was an old mealy-nose brown bear and was quite a bit larger than the other one. I left Joe there to dress him and fix him up and I took the dogs and went back to where we had seen the other one and away they went again, and if a dog ever thinks, those two dogs must have thought that bear was pretty thick in that locality. But if they thought they were going to have a picnic with this one they certainly got fooled, for it turned out to be a bald-faced bear and a ferocious one at that. After following him around the hillside for a half or three quarters of a mile they turned straight down the hill and I could hear them going at a furious rate and I knew they would be bound to overtake him in short time. So I took off the ridge as fast as I could go and before I had got far, perhaps a quarter of a mile, they overtook him and the big fight was on. And if you will believe me, it was a fight to a finish, for he was up against two of the best bear dogs on earth and dogs that had never failed to make good. I hurried on down and finally overtook them or rather got close enough to see them and I'll give you my word it was a sight that would make a sportsman's heart leap to see. He had backed up against some thick brush but it was all open in front of him for several yards around and both dogs were in front of him and would keep crowding up closer and closer until he would make a dash at them, snorting and champing his teeth and trying to strike them with his paws, but they were too swift for him and got out of his way. But when he turned to get back, then was the time they got their work in. One of them would jump and grab him by the ham and swing him around and then let go and get out of the way and then the other one would get him. In this way they made it hot for him until he would get to the brush and back up against it again. While this was going on I was all the time working my way down closer and closer until I was within fifty yards of them. Here I took a position behind a log and waited for Joe, who I knew would be coming in due time as he could not help hearing the racket and would be awfully disappointed if he did not get to see the fight. I was there for quite a while before Joe showed up and I will say right here that I believe there are any amount of sportsmen that would have given five hundred dollars to have been right where I was and seen the fight that I saw. The longer it lasted the bolder the dogs got and the madder the bear got and it was certainly immense to see them go after him when he dashed out at them and got out in the open so they could get him. All at once I heard Joe coming and to my surprise he was on the ridge, the other side of the bear, and was coming tearing along making an awful racket. I knew now that as soon as the bear heard him there would be something doing and I got my gun in position to shoot instantly. All at once he dashed and made straight across the opening right towards where I was. I realized now that it was time to be doing something, and before he got to the brush I fired, but it had no effect and here he came tearing through the brush and I saw that I was in for it, as the dogs couldn't do anything with him when he got in the brush. So I began to pour the lead into him as fast as I could work the lever. Once he fell but was up again in an instant and was to the log before I had time to think and reared up and threw both paws upon it and snorted and champed his teeth ferociously. I ran to one side and caught a bead on the side of his head and fired, and just then I heard Joe's gun crack and over he went and if you will believe me I was not the least bit sorry either. This was a genuine old bald-faced bear and a big one too. His front paws measured seven inches by ten. This was getting bear with vengeance and I told Joe the best thing we could do would be to go back to camp and get the horses and get them into camp, as it was early yet, only about nine o'clock. This we did but it was nearly dark before we got them all in as it proved to be a bigger job than we anticipated.
    The next day we spent in taking care of the meat and hides, which took the whole day. The next morning Joe wanted to go to Elk Wallows, so we left the dogs in camp and struck out. It was about three miles and in going that distance we saw thirty-two deer, the most of them small ones which we did not care to kill. But finally as we came up on top of a ridge we saw standing on the opposite side of the gulch two immense big bucks. This was more than we could stand so we pulled up and fired, killing them both. Here is where we made a great mistake as we were within half a mile of the Elk Wallows and found when we got there that a big band of elks had been there and had been scared, by the shots no doubt, and were gone. We followed them a short distance and decided that it would be too big a job to get one, as they had torn up the ground in great shape where they had gone down the hill. So we knew they had a bad scare and were liable to go twenty miles or more before they would ever check up. So we turned back and hunted lower down on the hillside as we went back and found deer in bands but only killed three big ones. And as that was about all we cared to take care of we decided not to shoot another one and to spend the balance of the time hunting for bear and getting our meat in shape to pack. So that afternoon we packed the deer in and took the hides off and spent all the next day cutting them up and getting them ready to jerk.
    By this time the dogs had had a good rest and were keen for another chase, so we struck out for the big swamp again, expecting to find bear there just the same as before. But in this we got badly fooled, for there had not been a single bear there since we had been there before. This was a little bit disappointing but we kept on, however, and after traveling for two or three miles we discovered the track of an immense big bear where he had just gone out of a wallow. The dogs were off like a shot and we could hear them going around the hillside for quite awhile. Then they crossed a ridge and went out of hearing. I could tell that they had not overtaken him so I told Joe that he had been gone longer than we thought and would probably give them a good chase and then fight, as a big fat bear doesn't like to climb. We talked the matter over and came to the conclusion to separate and let Joe go along the top of the ridge and I would keep around the sidehill lower down. I gave Joe instructions to blow the horn in case they crossed the
hill and went down on the Klamath side, so I could come up and go with him after them. I followed around the hill for probably two miles across ridges and gulches before I ever heard a sound of the dogs and had about made up my mind to turn and go up on top of the main ridge when all at once I heard them coming. In a few minutes I saw them away across the canyon on the top of the ridge and they had overtaken him. He was making his way along, fighting them every foot of the way. The brush was low and scattering and I could see them go after him and swing him around time and again. All at once he made a break and here he came down the hill like a hurricane with both dogs right after him. They soon brought him up again, but I could not see them now. So I started down toward the gulch in hopes of heading him off and get to see him before he got across, so I would have a better chance at him. I was positive Joe was coming somewhere behind because he could not help but hear them. When I got down within 75 or 100 yards of the gulch I took up a position so that I could command the opposite side of the hill and waited. I could hear the dogs going after him and every few minutes he would make a dash so I knew he was getting closer all the time. I didn't have long to wait, for in a very short time I saw them come in sight, about 150 yards away. And I discovered it was a grizzly. I knew now that it stood me in hand to be cautious. He was mad. I could tell that as he was rearing and plunging at the dogs in a ferocious manner. Once Trailer caught him by the ham and he ran him for 20 steps before Ranger got him. Then when he tried to bring himself up was under such headway that he slid for several feet before he could stop himself. In the meantime Ranger was swinging on and he had to turn to go after him. Ali the time, however, he was working down towards the gulch and getting close to me. I waited until he got within 75 or 80 yards and I was positive now that I could kill him before he could get to me, so I up and, catching a quick bead behind the shoulders, fired. Over he came about three times and was up and coming straight for me with mouth open and making an awful noise. I fired twice more before he got to the gulch but it had no effect, only to urge him on. As he crossed the gulch both dogs caught him by the hams but he dragged them several feet before he turned to knock them loose. When he did, I was ready and poured some more bullets into him. This time he fell and rolled over again and as he tried to scramble to his feet, I shot again and Bang, Bang, went Joe's gun and the old fellow went down for the last time. Joe had arrived just in time for the finish which he claimed was a whole lot better than to not to be in it at all. We sure had a job on our hands now, as he was too big to pack without cutting him up, so  we dressed him and took the dogs to camp as they were pretty well worn out and spent the balance of the day making racks to dry the meat on.
    The next morning we took a saddle horse and two pack horses and started out to bring in the bear. We took the dogs this time as we intended it to be the last day we would hunt. We saw deer all along at different times but did not fire a shot as we did not want another one but we found other game to shoot before we got to where the bear was. As we were going through a thick patch of brush we came to an open space and discovered the carcass of a deer nearly half eaten up. I suspected it was a cougar and called to Trailer who was back behind the horses to [come] up. As soon as he got there he took the track and didn't go 60 yards until he had it up and going. It was only a short chase and we soon heard them barking up the tree. We tied our horses up and went to them and sure enough it was a large cougar. He laid his ears back and showed his teeth and hissed just like he would just as soon come down as not. So we didn't waste any time, but up and pulled away both of us and he came rolling out with two bullet holes in his head. We went to work and took the hide off of him so we wouldn't be bothered as we came back. Then we went back and got the horses and started on again. We had not got more than a 100 yards when all at once away went the dogs and after running a short distance began to bark up a tree again. We tied the horses and went to them and there sat another big cougar. It had taken a large fir and had gone up high and was lying up there looking down at the dogs as unconcerned as if nothing was going on. It only took one shot between the eyes and he came tumbling out and his career of deer slaying was over. Joe said if we didn't tie Trailer up we never would get back to camp but we did just the same, as he made the balance of the round without getting on another track. It was away along in the afternoon when we got back and we were willing to quit. So we spent the next two days getting our meat in shape and then we packed up and started for home.
    We got as far as Bear Basin that night and upon getting up and going out after the horses we found that one was gone. We hunted high and low for him all that day and the next and the third day found him away off down in a canyon among the snow brush, five miles from camp. We got him out and to camp and went to Youngs Valley that night. The next day to where our wagon was and the next day home, satisfied that we had found one of the best places to hunt on the Pacific Coast.
Medford Clarion, September 22, 1922, page 1


    I am now going to tell the readers of the Clarion a short story of a hunt in the Dead Indian country, away back in 1890. I had a ranch out there in those days; and was running a small dairy of about fifteen cows, and between times hunted for the Ashland market. As I had to go in every Saturday with butter it came in pretty nice to have a few dollars worth of venison to take along to tickle the palate of the Ashlanders, many of whom were Easterners, and thought it was wonderful to get wild meat.
    I have taken as many as eight deer into Ashland at one haul--during the time the railroad was being built--and sold it all in one afternoon. One thing that pleased my customers was the fact that the meat was always clean, as I had large muslin sacks to slip over the deer, and no flies could get to it.
    Now for the story. I am going to tell you about raking in five deer and three bears all in one night.
    I saddled a horse and started out about three o'clock one afternoon, not intending to be gone more than a couple of hours, but Fate willed it otherwise. I had not gone more than two miles until the two dogs, Trailer and Ranger, struck a bear track, and away they went! I followed as fast as I could as long as I could hear them, and then kept on in the direction they were going until darkness compelled me to give it up. As good luck would have it I was near the Fort Klamath road, and did not have to come back home through the timber; which would have been disagreeable, to say the least.
    I arrived home long after dark, feeling very much disappointed, as I knew those dogs would not quit until they overtook that bear and then it would be a long wait until I found them the next day.
    Morning came at last! I was up long before daybreak and had my horses ready--one with a riding saddle and the other with a pack saddle, as I was going to take grub and blankets with me, in case it was necessary to remain overnight.
    As soon as it was light I struck out and traveled the main road until I got to Lost Prairie. At that place I left the road, and after much rambling I found myself up on a hill knoll. I stopped and listened, but did not hear a sound.
    After looking and listening awhile I blew the horn long and loud. As the sound reverberated and died away I caught a sound away off in the distance but hardly clear enough to tell what it was.
    I left the horses and went on up higher and soon came to a bare rocky point. Here I listened again, but heard nothing. I blew the horn once more, and in a few seconds I heard Trailer, the dog, Bow-wow-wow!--just three barks, but that was enough! I caught the direction and the game was mine! I leaped out for those horses with a hop-step-and-jump! And I wasn't long in getting to where they were, I'll tell the world! I had to go back down to Lost Prairie and then south towards one of my old camps near the summit of the mountain, which is called Griffin's Camp to this day by the cattlemen of Dead Indian.
    It was slow work through the timber and brush, and over and around logs. I did not stop to listen for probably a mile and a half. When I did, however, I could hear both dogs--but still a long way off.
    I blew the horn again to let them know I was coming, and then they did turn loose in great shape! And it was not long until I could ride along and hear them almost continually. Gee! but I was impatient to get there!--not so much for the sake of killing a bear, but to relieve Trailer and get my eyes on him once more.
    I arrived at last to within three or four hundred yards of the dogs. Here I halted, dismounted, and tied my horses so that I could get to the tree without making any noise, as there is every chance to take that a bear will come down if it hears you coming.
    When I got up closes enough to see the dogs and locate the tree, I selected a large fir and kept behind it until I got to it, then I peeped around, and looked--and sure enough, there sat a great big brown, mealy-nosed bear. He was up about twenty or thirty feet, stretched out full length on a large limb that ran out from the body of the tree.
    The dogs had not, as yet, discovered me, and I blew the horn just about loud enough to make them hear. They went wild at the sound, and just tore around and barked! I approached nearer now, saying to myself, "You try coming down that tree now, old boy; and I'll make it hot for you!" When I got up to where he could see me, however, he raised right up and stood looking down at me as much as to say, "Where in the dickens did you come from?"
    Ho did not debate that question long, as I pulled up and drew a bead between the eyes and--bang! He went off that limb as though he had been hit on the head with a sledge-hammer; and he never struck a limb--even to break his fall. When he struck the ground both dogs piled onto him.
    The next thing, now, was to feed the dogs. I went back and got the horses, and brought them up and took off the sack with the grub, and fed them. Did they eat? Answer that question sometime, yourself, after you have gone hungry two days, and then found yourself surrounded with food.
    Now I surely had a job on my hands. The bear was entirely too big to even think of getting on a horse. I was obliged to skin him, and cut him up. You old bear hunters know what it is to skin a big, fat bear, alone in the woods. It had to be done, though; I went on to Griffin's Camp, and unsaddled the horses and turned them loose on the grass, which was thick everywhere. In those days no cattle had ever trod over it.
    Then I went back and started in to skin that bear, and in due time had him ready. It was getting late in the afternoon by this time, and I was a long way from home--probably ten miles--so I packed up and started out.
    The course I took led down through an old burn about two miles. Just as I got to the lower end and turned into the timber I came to the edge of a small creek, and on each side was high grass. Out darted two bucks and up the other side; I was walking and leading my horse. I dropped the rope and catching a bead on the larger one, I fired--Bang! He dropped right there; I fired in another load, and by that time the other deer stopped, and turning broadside he looked back. It was his last look--the Winchester spoke, and a bullet went straight through his heart. One was a four-pointer and the other was a forked horn.
    I had a lot of liver now for the dogs, and they were ready to eat, too, if you will believe me. I concluded now to camp and hunt that evening and early the next morning, as it would have taken two trips, anyhow. I unpacked and turned the horses loose, and went out that evening and killed two more deer.
    That night I staked the horses so I would have them handy the next morning. I retired to my impromptu bunk early, as I had had quite a strenuous day, and plenty of excitement, and luck, too, I'll tell the world. I had made up my mind to get up early and leave the dogs in camp while I took a little round in the morning, before starting out for home.
    The following morning I was up and off before it was hardly light enough to see to shoot. I headed for a small burn where I had seen the track of a big buck several different times, but had never been able to set eyes or him. It was about a mile away, and when I got  to it I caught sight of my old buck going out on the opposite side.
    He was a big fellow, and I thought I would follow on the track to see if I could get a sight of him. I followed along for a hundred yards or more when all at once I heard a noise off to my right. I turned and went out that direction to see it I could ascertain what it was. I had gone only a few yards when I discovered an old rotten log torn up.
    That settled it! I knew now that it was a bear that I had heard, and the Winchester came down off my shoulder and rested on my left arm, with my thumb on the lock and my finger on the trigger ready for instant use. I had not moved more than forty yards when all at once I saw a big, brown grizzly bear coming straight toward me. She had not seen me at all, but was walking slowly along with her nose close to the ground, looking first on one side and then on the other. I brought the gun to my shoulder quick as a flash, caught a bead; and fired--Bang! Down she went! But she was up in a second, clawing the air, and all at once dived into the brush and was gone.
    How I came to miss killing that bear is a mystery to me, as she was not more than forty steps away and I had aimed to take her square in the forehead. I would have liked to be able to tell you that it was a dead shot, but that would not be true; and I want you to know that I am telling the truth to the very best of my recollection.
    You can rest assured there is no fiction about this! I went to the place, and there was much blood, showing that the shot, though not fatal, perhaps, was at least effective. While I was standing there, all at  once I heard a racket, and turning I saw a bulky cub on a limb of a fir tree. I pulled up and shot him in the head; and he came tumbling down heels over head.
    I never went near him, but I struck out for camp mighty lively, I want you to know, because there were two dogs that I wanted to get onto that big bear track as quickly as I could. I swung over out of the timber and got on the big burn, and from then on I made rapid time homeward. When I got about half way I discovered a big buck lying down about one hundred and twenty-five yards from the road near a log. He was lying with his head away from me, looking back over his shoulder.
    I pulled up and shot, and saw the buck struggle to his feet and away; he went down the hill. I did not follow him, but hiked right on to camp, saddled a horse, and started back immediately with the dogs.
    When I got up to where I had shot the buck, I found much blood, so I started Ranger after him, and it was only a few minutes until I heard him baying him. I rode on down where he was, and got off my horse and shot the buck in the head. He was certainly a dandy!--had nine points on each horn! I dressed him, and went on.
    When I arrived at the place where I had shot the bear, and Trailer, the dog, smelled the blood, you couldn't have held him with a log chain, and it was only a few minutes until they had her. I was soon there, and found them on a nice little flat piece of ground, perfectly open for several yards around.
    The bear had come out, and was giving the two dogs a square fight in the open. Now, my kind readers, I will not attempt to describe that fight, as it is utterly impossible for me to do so. Zane Grey or Jack London might have done so, but I give it up; suffice it to say that it was the prettiest fight that I ever saw in all my life between a bear and dogs, and I have seen some pretty hot ones.
    I sat on my horse and watched that fight until those two dogs had that bear whipped to a frazzle, yet neither dog got so much as a scratch. Finally I got down off my horse and put an end to it. I have often thought of that scrap and wondered how much some people would have given to have seen it.
    I told you at the start it was going to be a short story of a short hunt, but it has turned out to be a long one.
Medford Clarion, January 26, 1923, page 3


    Well, dear readers of the Clarion, after a long silence once again I am going to inflict upon you another hunting story, and if you don't like hunting stories don't read it. But when you see the heading no doubt you will have a curiosity to know whether Nim shot his own eye out or shot a bear's eye out. Well, the way to find out is to read the story and then you will know. I came up to Ashland a few days ago, and the first man I met was Nim Long, an old friend of mine who used to hunt with me, and he took me right home with him to talk over old times and say we had a great time, "I'll tell the world." But there is one little episode that Nim won't talk about and that is the time he missed the big bear that was up in a tree. But perhaps I had better tell you the story and then you will know all about it. 'Twas many years ago, and Nim and I are a few years older than we were then, but time flies and waits for no one or we might be as young as we used to be. Well, however that may be, that it does not matter now and we will pass it over as I said before. Many years ago Nim Long, Crit Tolman and I went away up on the Big Applegate and then up to the head of Squaw Creek on a hunting expedition. I had Trailer and Ranger with me and Crit took along a little Irish bulldog that went by the name of Frank. I am telling you the names of the dogs as well as the names of the men, for the dogs were the principal factors on this hunt, "I'll tell the world," and if we had not taken them with us on this hunt it would certainly have been a dry hunt. We took a wagon as far as the Hanley ranch where we found Bill Hanley, who is now the sage of Harney. Bill loaned us a horse and as we had three with us this gave us a horse apiece to ride and a pack horse. We camped at Squaw Lake and put our horses in a pasture owned by Sanford Carter. There were worlds of fish in those days in big and little Squaw Lake and we got fish the first thing the next morning. We took a saddle horse apiece and struck out up the hill to look over the country and see if there was any game. We hadn't gone over a mile or so when Trailer and Ranger struck a bear track and away they went away down around the hillside toward Big Applegate yelping every jump and in a short time we heard them coming back towards us again and they passed in above us. All at once we heard them bark and we knew he was treed. We got down now and tied our horses and started over where they were. It was only a few hundred yards and open timber at that, so when we got up to within a hundred yards we saw the dogs at the root of the tree and there about thirty feet up sat a big brown bear. Crit and I went right on but hadn't gone far until we missed Nim. Upon looking back we saw Nim thrust his gun through the fork of a small laurel tree and was snapping off limbs and leaves so he could see to shoot. I called out to him and said, "Why, what in the dickens are you doing." "Why," he said, "I am going to shoot that bear." I said, "Why, come on with us, Nim, and we will go up under the tree and then you can shoot it." "No," says Nim, "I'm close enough I can shoot its eye out from here." I said, "All right, but wait for Crit and I get to up under the tree and then if you wound him we can kill him before he gets down. I don't want to take any chances on getting Trailer hurt." "All right," says Nim, so we went on up and took a position just on the upper side, and I told Crit, "If he doesn't kill that bear you be ready and commence pouring bullets into him as fast as you can." Then I signaled to Nim to fire away, which he lost no time in doing and missed it slick and clear. The bear started to come down and just then Crit's gun cracked and here he came heels over head with a bullet hole at the butt of the ear. Nim came on up now a sadder but wiser man, as he wanted to kill that bear awfully bad, and could of done so if he had gone on up with us. Well, we had lots of fun out of Nim about that. But the very next day he did a trick equally as bad. We went up into that same locality and after we got up near the place where the dogs started the bear we tied our horses up and took it afoot. It was not long until I heard the dogs going again and this time Frank went with them. In a short time we heard them barking furiously; there was a thick brush to go through and Crit and I started straight through to the dogs but Nim went up around and through the timber and beat us to it. Bang went his gun, and then we heard an awful fight going on. I yelled to him to save Trailer and we heard him fire two shots more then all was still. We got through as soon as we could and found it was an immense cougar. He wounded it the first shot and it sprang right down among the dogs and the first hard work it nearly took the shoulder off the little Irish bull and we had to pack him in. Nim acknowledged he did the wrong thing, but he said the temptation was so great he couldn't help it. We left the cougar and went on, intending to come back by and skin him, but our route took us so far away that we went to camp and waited until the next morning to go back and skin him. While we were skinning him Trailer wandered off on a tour of his own and we heard him turn loose and run a short distance and then begin to bark up a tree. We went to him and he had another cougar, the female. Crit pulled up and shot it square between the eyes; that ended its career. The next day we went away up northeast of Squaw Lake and while riding around the mountainside Nim's horse fell with him and rolled over twice and took Nim right along with him. It was a narrow escape but he came out all right. That day we killed nothing, and the next day we started for home with two cougars and a big brown bear, and had lots of fun. I hope Nim won't be mad at me when he reads this.
Medford Clarion, July 27, 1923, page 2