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Hunting
with John Griffin John B. Griffin killed a deer a short time since which weighed 170 lbs. when dressed. He has no superior as a hunter in this section. On the Trail of the
Club Foot Bear
A Story of Big Game in the Cascade and Siskiyou Ranges When Elk, Deer, Bear and Big Timber Wolves Roamed the Forests Practically Undisturbed By JOHN B. GRIFFIN AS
THIS is the first story I have written for Forest and Stream, I
will just say for the benefit of the readers that these stories are
written from actual experiences in hunting big game for over twenty
years in the Cascade and Siskiyou Range, when elk, deer, bear, and big
timber wolves were roaming the forest practically undisturbed except by
myself and dogs. During half of this time I had with me Trailer, who
was supposed to be, and no doubt was, one of the best bear and cougar
dogs on earth. He often treed two cougar in one day, and three and four
bear in one day, a feat that is seldom done by any dog, and this he
often did alone, without a helper. These facts are well known by any
amount of people in Southern Oregon. As it is claimed that a cougar
will kill on an average of fifty deer a year, it will be
easy to see that Trailer saved the lives of a great number of deer to say the least. I never allowed Trailer to run deer, only when wounded; and you can believe me when I tell you that whenever I drew blood, and sent Trailer after a deer, I was sure to get it. And when Trailer struck a bear or cougar track that was fresh it was nearly a sure shot that it would be climbing a tree in a short time. In those days I used to go on hunting trips of several days' duration, taking along pack horses, and often had to dry or jerk the meat, as it would be too heavy to pack in fresh. Often I went alone, but at times I was accompanied by some friend who wished to take an outing. On the hunt that I intend telling you about in this story I had with me a man by the name of Templeton, who had never hunted big game before, but who afterwards became quite a hunter and was with me on a number of occasions when we had to handle our Winchesters pretty lively. He was a very excitable man, as you will find out when you read this story. I will call him Temp for short, as that is what I always called him in those days. I had heard of an immense grizzly that was ranging in the region around Mt. Pitt. Occasionally it would take a stampede and get over in the Buck Lake country and kill a few sheep and sometimes a cow, or a big steer, and then hike back to his old stamping ground north of Four Mile Lake, and would not show up in that locality for quite a while again. The sheep belonged to a man named Reddick, who tried all kinds of plans to trap him, but the old scamp was too foxy to be trapped. He probably had been in a trap before, as he had a crippled foot and made a peculiar track which gave him the name of the Club Foot Bear. I received a letter from Reddick offering me one hundred dollars if I would come and kill the bear. At the time he wrote Old Club Foot had swooped down and killed a big four-year-old steer and he wanted me to come at once. So Temp and I started out one morning with our outfit of horses and dogs, Trailer and Ranger, and before noon the next day we landed at Reddick's camp on Buck Lake Prairie where the steer had been killed. That afternoon he went with us and showed us where the steer lay. The bear had not been there for a day or two; however, we could follow his tracks and found he had gone north toward Black Butte. The trail led us through a big burn for three or four miles where it was easy to follow, but after a while we struck the timber and brush. Then it was all off, and we went back to camp. After holding a consultation with Reddick, we came to the conclusion that he had gone back to his old range. So the next morning we packed up and struck out for Four Mile Lake, at the foot of old Mt. Pitt, and the hunt was on for the trail of the Club Foot Bear. Our route lay through a level timber country for several miles, as we avoided the high hills and swung in by Lake of the Woods, and that night made our camp on Grouse Creek, where the grass was high as a horse's back and huckleberries grew by the bushel. The next day we laid over and took a scout out around the side of old Mt. Pitt, east of camp, but failed to find any sign of the Club Foot Bear. I told Temp that probably he was taking it easy and it would be three or four days before he would get back to his old range probably. As there were lots of huckleberries on the hill east of camp, we concluded to give the bear a round-up for a few days, and then go on one and make another camp near where the old Club Foot ranged. So next morning we were off bright and early. I took Trailer with me, and took a route nearly northeast from camp, and Temp went nearly east, which would put him on the lower side of the hill from me, as we thought that would be the best thing to do in case Trailer should start a bear. The country was covered with open pine timber, with scattering bush all through it, and was an ideal place for deer. I had not gone more than two miles from camp when out jumped two big bucks within forty steps of me and bounded off through the timber. The Winchester came to my shoulder in double quick time, and catching a bead behind the shoulder of the one that was in the lead, I pumped away and had the satisfaction of seeing him spring high in the air, run a few yards and fall. This disconcerted the other one, and after running a short distance he stopped to look back. This was easy, as it was only about seventy-five yards. I caught the bead and fired, and down he went with a bullet a little high behind the shoulder. One was a six-pronged buck and the other nine on one and ten on the other. I dressed them, hung them up as best I could and started on and had gone no more than half a mile when Trailer struck a bear track that was fresh, and away he went, yelping at every jump. I followed slowly along, thinking perhaps he would overtake and tree it near where Temp was, as it went in that direction. I COULD hear him going, going, for quite a while, and finally he passed over a ridge and out of hearing. I stood still and listened a while, and then started on down in that direction. All of a sudden I heard him again, this time coming back towards me. I got up on a log now and waited. I could hear him coming nearer, nearer, all the time, and in a minute I saw the bear coming just as straight as a line right to me. When he got up to within one hundred yards, Trailer had got near enough so that he was in sight of him. Now he quit barking and came on like the wind to overtake him. It was a pretty sight to see them come. The big black fellow lumbering along straight to his doom, as he was close enough now so that I could fill him full of bullets before it would be possible for him to get away especially with a dog behind him that had never failed to get his game, and was gaining on him at every jump. On he came and as he got closer I held my gun on him ready for pull the trigger if he ever made a turn. But he did not know that I was there and just as he got up and was pausing within ten steps of me Trailer overtook him, and, making a lunge, caught him by the ham and gave him a yank. Around he went, and struck viciously at Trailer, but the dog let go and got out of the way. The bear turned to go, and Trailer came full tilt to get him again. Just then I fired and he sank right down in his tracks. Trailer was coming so fast that he lit on top of the bear's back, and grabbing hold, commenced to shake at him, but old Bruin was done for and the scrap was over. But another was coming which I little dreamed of when I was dressing this bear, which did not take long. I picked up my gun and started down the slope thinking that perhaps I would run across Temp down in that direction. In this I was not mistaken, for I had not gone more than a mile when, bang, went a gun off to my right. I threw up the horn which I always carried and gave it a toot, and I heard Temp hollering for me to come. I sent Trailer and followed up as fast as I could, and when I got there I found Trailer and Temp at the foot of a big fir; upon looking up the tree I saw two cub bears, one about halfway up, and the other away near the top. He told me that he had shot at the old one and missed, and he said she was a big brown one. He was awfully excited and was in for shooting them out without any ceremony, but I cautioned him not to be in a hurry, for I knew that in his present excitement he couldn't hit a barn door. So he waited a while but finally got so eager to shoot that I told him to go ahead. But I warned him--"Let me tell you something, Temp. If you make a bad shot on them cubs and cause one of them to squall we will have a fight on our hands just as sure. For the old one will come just as sure as she hears." He said he didn't care; he wanted to kill them. He had never killed a bear in his life. "All right," I said. "Go to it." He pulled up to shoot, and I saw he was shaking like a leaf, so I said, "Hold on, Temp. Wait until you get over that." But he paid no attention and bang went his gun, and the cub commenced to squall. I called to him to look out, and ran over to a tree about thirty steps away, and stopped with my gun ready. We did not have long to wait, for she came sure enough, and like a cyclone. Trailer met her just as she dashed into the opening, straight for Temp. She passed the dog, but he was too quick for her, and sprang at her, seized her by the ham, swinging her clear around, and let go to get out of her way. Just then I shot, striking her in the shoulder, breaking it. By this time Temp had got turned around and got his gun into action, putting a bullet through her body. Trailer kept working on her hams, and we kept pouring the bullets into her until she rolled over. Temp now had only four cartridges left, and commenced to shoot at the cubs, but missed every time. I was going to shoot them out then, but he begged me to let him have my gun, as he had never killed a bear. So I gave him my gun, and after shooting eight times he brought them down at last and was happy. We now had four bear and two bucks on our hands, so we had a job of packing in the next morning. During this time Temp killed a five-point buck and it took all that day to get them in and skin them and two days more to get the meat jerked so we could handle it. Then we sacked it and hung it in trees where it would be safe until we came back, for we were on the trail of the Club Foot Bear, and were bound to give him a round before we quit. WE BROKE camp the next morning and landed at Four Mile Lake at noon. There we met with two hunters who told us they had just come through from the head of Red Blanket and had seen elk signs near Summit Springs as they came along, but being short on provisions, they did not stop to hunt them up. This set Temp wild as he had never seen an elk, and as this was in the vicinity of where the Club Foot Bear ranged, it was just what we were looking for. So after dinner we set out, and after traveling a few hours we came to a nice place where the grass was high as the backs of our horses, and nice running water; an ideal place to camp, under a large spreading maple tree. We spent the balance of the day fixing up the camp, as we did not know how long we would be there; for we were in a country where big game abounded, and where seldom a white man had ever trod. So we intended to make the most of it while we were there. I told Temp we would start out in the morning and go in different directions to size up the country and get an idea of how the ground lay; for it might be of great benefit to us in case we had to follow a bear that would not climb. So next morning I struck out through the timber in a northwest direction and Temp bore off about north or northeast. I hiked along through a level timbered country for perhaps two miles, when suddenly I came to a small prairie of perhaps four or five acres, and on the opposite side the hills showed up and the timber was scattering, with thick patches of buckhorn brush. I had seen a number of deer tracks as I came along, but had seen no game that was worth shooting at, so I made up my mind that I would go across the prairie and take up the mountain on the other side. So I started out and as soon as I got in the open ground I began to see elk tracks. Before I got to the other side of the opening I saw great holes pawed out where they had been lying and big trails leading out into the timber. I followed one of these trails for about two hundred yards, when all at once I saw where a big band of elk had come in to the trail and gone on up the hill. It was no trouble to follow them, so I hurried on after them, feeling sure they were making for some high ground on account of flies, which were very bad in the open prairie. I could tell by the tracks that they were taking it easy, as now and then they would nearly all be out of the trail feeding on browse, but it would not be long until they were back in the trail, and going again. Finally the trail led me out of the timber onto a ridge that was covered by low buckhorn brush. I followed up this ridge for probably a mile, then they turned down around the side of the hill and crossed a deep gulch and on over the next ridge. As I approached the top I was very cautious, and stood and looked a long time, but there was not an elk anywhere to be seen. I NOW went on across this gulch and climbed up to the top of the next ridge. Here they had scattered around some and worked along up the ridge for a short distance and turned down again. In front of me the brush was high so I could not see across on the opposite side, so I kept on up for sixty or seventy-five yards to where the short buckbrush was, and upon looking over, there on the opposite side just above the edge [of] the thick brush stood an immense bull elk, not over one hundred yards from where I stood, and not another elk in sight. Say, believe me, that was a sight that made my heart leap for joy, for in those days I was a dead shot and did not have a thought that he could get away. He held his head straight up with his big horns back astride of his shoulders, and they were big ones too. If you will believe me, there were seven on one and eight on the other. I thought to myself, as I thought a great many times when my dogs were fighting a bear, how many there were who would give a thousand dollars to stand where I stood and have the chance that I did to kill that elk--it would have been worth the money. It was a big mark, but I drew my bead carefully behind the shoulder and pulled. At the crack of the gun he lunged forward. The Winchester cracked again and another bullet went crashing through him, but it was not really necessary. The first had done its work, passing square through the butt of the heart, and he reeled and fell, never to rise again. But down below the brush was thrashing and crashing, and the whole band was tearing down the canyon toward the timber at a tremendous rate. I ran down a few yards and got sight of one of the hind ones, and bringing the gun to my shoulder I caught a bead and fired. The elk was out of sight in little or no time, but when I went down I found blood. I followed up and after a while it left the bunch and took off to itself, and I concluded to go back and take care of the one I had. It was a big job to take his entrails out and get him in shape, but I got through within due time and started to camp. It was a long hike and the sun was down before I got halfway. I was hurrying to get to camp when I suddenly heard the long lonesome howl of a big gray wolf. I listened a minute and not hearing an answering howl I hurried on again. In a few minutes I heard him again and far back. I was sure now that he was following me, as my shoes had gotten bloody from the elk. I began to study what to do, for I knew if he followed along like that others might fall in, and it would place me in a dangerous position, as the only chance would be to climb. I was thinking fast as I hiked along when I happened to look out to one side and saw a large tree that had fallen, and the point lay the way I was going. I hurried and went a little past the top, then ran back and walked back to the butt of the tree, which lay high off from the ground, and waited. I looked to see that the cartridges were in the barrel and, dropping the muzzle of the gun, I stood ready with my thumb on the lock and my finger on the trigger. I did not have to wait long for he soon came in sight, a long, lanky fellow, trotting slowly along, and every few yards [he] would stop and stick his nose in the air and give a long mournful howl, then he would listen, but no answer came. I was listening too. Then on he would come. I could have shot him, but did not want to take any chances on missing him, for he had to pass in thirty steps if he stuck to my tracks. Closer and closer he came, and when within fifty yards I could hardly resist the temptation to shoot, but smothered it and waited. Now he was in forty yards and stopped. He did not howl this time, but stood a few seconds and listened, then came on. Just as he got opposite me he stopped and sitting back on his haunches gave me one of the most dismal, hair-raising howls I believe I ever heard. While his nose was in the air I brought the gun up and drew a fine bead on his head; and just as he started up, while the sound was still reverberating through the woods, I pressed the trigger. The bullet caught him just at the butt of the ear and over he went with feet straight in the air for a few seconds, then commenced to kick around lively for a while and straightened out dead. I WENT over and took a look at him, and lit out for camp, arriving a little bit after dark, tired and hungry. Temp had been there quite a while and had supper ready, but was very much excited. He had run across the track of the Club Foot Bear and was so eager to tell me all about it that [he] did not think to ask me if I had killed anything. So while we ate he told me how he had been traveling through the woods and came to a prairie covered with high grass, and near the middle he ran onto a spring or hole of water, and there had been a bear there only a short time before, as the water was still muddy. When he went on out he left a trail of water and mud for a short distance, and then Temp could see his track plain, and it was sure enough the track of old Club Foot. Right there and then Temp turned back as he had no desire to come in contact with a grizzly, for he had heard they were ferocious beasts and would fight at the drop of a hat. I told him this was a fact as I had tried them, but that is another story. He was right in for starting out the next morning. But I told him we couldn't do that as I had another job on hand. He wanted to know what it was, and was astonished when I told him about killing the elk and wolf and wounding another elk. I told him we would take the horses and dogs and go to where the big buck was, and leave the horses and take the track of the wounded elk and follow it up. This suited Temp fine, for he stood as good a chance to get a shot in as I did. In the morning we saddled up, taking five head of horses, and arrived about nine o'clock where the big elk lay. We tied our horses up and took up the trail of the elk. When the dogs smelled the blood they were eager to go, but I wasn't ready yet. I had Temp put a string on Ranger and keep him back, then I let Trailer slow track the elk for a long way across gulches and over ridges and finally we came to where he had been lying down, but was up and gone. We followed to the top of a ridge and upon looking down discovered that the gulch was very brushy, so I decided to let the dogs go; but before I did so I sent Temp back down the ridge with orders to shoot like the dickens if it came his way. I waited so as to give him plenty of time to get there, then I slipped the rope off Ranger's neck and told them to go. And away they went down into the head of the gulch, and I heard the brush begin to crash, and away went the elk down the mountainside, and both dogs right after it, yelping at every jump. Temp heard them coming and was on the alert. He did not have long to wait as the elk soon came by on the opposite side of the gulch, and old Temp began to string bullets after it, and as luck would have it hit it once so that the dogs soon overtook it and then the fight commenced. I ran down the hill as fast as I could and overtaking Temp we hurried on down and soon came in sight. And such a sight! To see two of the finest trained bear dogs, almost, on earth, fighting a wounded elk. It was simply wonderful the way those dogs would get around and seize it by the ham, and get out of the way of its hoofs. I will not try to describe it, but will say that after we had stood and watched them quite a while I told Temp to watch his chance and put a bullet behind its shoulder and end it, which he did, and the fight was over. I sent Temp back after the horses while I skinned it and got it ready to pack. It was only a two-year-old, and we packed it on two horses. When we got to the other one it took us quite a while to get it ready, but we finally got it loaded and racked out for camp. We did not bother about the wolf and arrived at camp just about dark, hungry as wolves, and happy as clams. TEMP wanted to start right out the next morning after old Club Foot, but I said, "No, we are going to cut this meat up and salt it tomorrow and let the dogs rest up, and the next day we will go." I told Temp if he thought we were going to have a picnic when the dogs got after old Club Foot he was badly mistaken, as I was sure he would put up a great fight and we would have to get a good ready on. Well, we stayed in camp all next day. Got the meat all cut up and salted, and the next morning filled the Winchesters with cartridges, our pack sacks with grub and were off. It took about an hour to get to the prairie where Temp had seen the sign and upon going out to the wallow we found he had been back. Trailer and Ranger took up the scent and were off pell-mell after him, and the chase was on; out across the prairie and up the hill on the other side and over the hill and out of hearing. We hiked out for high ground, and when we got up on top we could hear them away down below us, and we could tell by the sound of their voices that they had overtaken him, and the fight was raging fast and furious. I told Temp to go straight down the ridge until he got entirely below them and wait. Temp lit out on a run, and after waiting a while I struck out and in probably twenty minutes I was close enough to shoot, but could not see them on account of brush. I kept moving up closer and closer when all at once I heard old Club Foot go crashing through the brush down the hill toward the creek. I ran now as fast as I could in hopes of getting to see them as they went up the hill on the opposite side, and sure enough up he came after stopping at the water a few minutes, with both dogs going after him savagely. First one would catch him by the ham, but as he swung round to deliver a blow the dog would let go and get out of the way, and the other dog would do the same. Now was the time for me to get in my work, and the Winchester began to crack. Once, twice, three times, down he went, and the dogs piled in on him. But he was up in no time and scattered them right and left. Just then I heard Temp's gun begin to crack and down the hill came bear, dogs and all, straight toward me. I began to pour the lead into him, as it was evident now that he was going to try to get to me. I called to Temp to give it to him, and as he was above him he could do good execution. But down in the creek he came, and as he climbed the bank I commenced to put bullets into his breast, and he rolled back and began to chew the bushes, and soon rolled over dead. TEMP was literally wild with delight and hugged first one dog and then the other, declaring over and over that they were the best on earth. All we could do now was to take the hide and head of the bear, which we proceeded to do, leaving the feet on the hide to show that it was really the Club Foot Bear. This wound up our hunt, and I will say to the reader if you wish to see some of the teeth out of the mouth of old Club Foot, and also the horns of the elk, come to my house near Kerby in Southern Oregon, and I will show them to you. Forest and Stream, January 1919, page 3 John B. Griffin, the hunter who lives in the Dead Indian country in the Cascades east of Ashland, brought in a wagonload of fine, fat venison last Saturday and sold it readily at eight cents per pound. It is seldom that an elk is seen now in this part of Oregon, but Mr. Griffin killed a big buck elk recently on Little Elk Creek which dressed about 800 pounds. His antlers were six-pointers, and have a majestic spread. An eight-pointed buck of the common blacktailed deer, killed the other day by Mr. Griffin, dressed 189½ pounds--about as large as they are ever reported. To the Editor of Forest and Stream: My attention has been called to your January issue which contains an article by John B. Griffin describing a bear hunt in southern Oregon in early days. There are thousands of people here in southern Oregon and northern California who can vouch for the truth of Mr. Griffin's stories and testify to the fact that his famous bear dog "Trailer" possessed almost human intelligence. John Griffin Tells Story of Bears Abounding Locally By JOHN GRIFFIN Were
there genuine grizzlies here in the early days? I have been asked this
question time and time again. Well, if you had been on the old Griffin
Ranch, out where John Darby lives now, and saw the bear tracks that I
saw in those days when the grizzlies came right down in our fields and
killed our hogs, you would sure believe there were grizzlies: and if
you had followed them up with an old muzzle-loading gun you might have
fared as badly as some other hunters did in those days.
There used to be an old grizzly that ranged up in the hills back of our place and now and then he would come right down into the field and kill a hog. My elder brothers used to build a rail fence around a big pine tree and get up there and watch all night for him to come, but from some cause or other he never made his appearance when they were lying for him. Every now and then he would take a trip down through the valley and generally passed through the Bellinger place about two miles this side of Jacksonville, then on down through the Ash and Beall ranches to the mouth of Bear Creek, and when he came to a fence he just simply knocked it down and went on to the next one and did the same thing all the way through. In three or four days he would come back, and instead of coming the same route would only miss it a hundred yards or so, and down went the fences again. I have seen his track where he crossed the dusty road and I can say what I believe to be true, that I never saw a larger bear track in all my life, and I have seen hundreds of them. Finally, a hunter by the name of Cole came to the valley and located at the little mining town of Willow Springs. He had four fine hunting dogs, and when he heard of this old bear whom no one seemed to want to tackle, he thought it would be a good chance to try the mettle of his dogs in a scrap with a real bear. Well, he got it, and the bear came very near getting him. It seems that the old bear, on returning from one of his trips to Rogue River, crossed the road near the Willow Springs store, on his way back sometime during the night or early morning. A man happening along that morning discovered his tracks in the dusty road, and when he got to the store told them he had seen where a grizzly had crossed. Cole happened to be there and didn't lose no time in getting out his dogs and gun and away he went. He had the hounds coupled, but as good luck would have it had a cur dog that would slow track. This dog took the track which still had plenty of scent, and it was an easy matter to follow him right along, which he did for two or three miles, when he came to a thick patch of manzanita brush and concluded to turn the hounds loose and take chances on the outcome, and away they went and in a short time they had the old bear on the go, and in a few minutes he heard them coming right back towards him. All at once the old grizzly came charging towards him. He pulled down and shot but missed and the bear was upon him. He jerked out his knife, but too late. It bore him down and grabbing him by one shoulder would have made short work of him, but the dogs got there just in time and grabbed him by the hams, which caused him to turn and let Cole go, and the dogs made it so hot for him that he got far enough away to let Cole escape, who had all the bear he wanted for that day. The bear finally wore the dogs out and they came back. I saw Cole a few days after, carrying his arm in a sling, and he told me all about it, which I am telling you about from my recollections as he told me. It was several weeks before the old scamp took a notion to take one of his regular trips down through the valley, knocking down fences, and as good luck would have it, he came back the same route he had taken before and came across the road near where an old farmer lived, and when he went out to drive in his cows discovered the old fellow's tracks and lost no time in hurrying down to the store to tell Cole who soon got ready and taking three good men with him, struck out and took the track which led them right up to the same patch of brush. Here they stopped, and as quietly as they could laid their plans. He sent one man around on the south side and one was to take a stand on the east and one on the west with instructions to select a place where they would have the chance to climb if necessary. After giving them plenty of time to get to their positions, Cole uncoupled the dogs and in they went. Sure enough, the old scamp was lying in the same old bed, and when he heard the dogs coming he made a dash out through the brush and as good luck would have it, came out between Cole and the man on the east side and dashed down into a ravine, and as he came up on the other side the dogs overtook him in plain sight of Cole and the fight was on. He commenced knocking dogs right and left. Cole waited and soon got a broadside shot which passed right through his heart and over he went. I saw that hide, and I believe it was the largest one ever seen. One thing sure, the farmers didn't have to get out and put up any more fences. P.S.--The next grizzly story will be an account of the fight the Obenchain boys had with the grizzly that tore up Wash Obenchain. Medford News, October
26, 1934, page 8
Griffin may never have gotten around to writing about the Obenchain bear battle. Here's an abbreviated account: Bears Used
To Be Bad Pest Here
Says Griffin in His Second Yarn I said the second story I would write would be an account of the fight the Obenchains had with the old grizzly on Butte Creek. But as I have been delayed in getting some of the particulars of this affair, which was one of the most terrific and disastrous fights that has ever taken place on the Pacific Coast, I wish to get as complete and authentic account of it as I possibly can, or, in other words, a true story, so in the meantime I will tell the readers of a scrap I had with a black bear near the Doctor [E. P.] Geary place on Griffin Creek. In those days I lived on the old Griffin place, and I had two bear dogs--one of them old Trailer that so many stories have been written about, and a Russian terrier I called Lion. These two dogs had the habit of going out after night and treeing all kinds of varmints, wildcats, foxes, cougars, bear, etc. on the mountains south of Medford that we can see any day if we will trouble to look sometimes. They would tree a bear or cougar in hearing of the house. But other times I would have to take a saddle horse and get up on top of one of those high ridges and follow it along so I could listen for the dogs and hear them on either side. Sometimes I would travel for hours before I would hear Trailer "bow-wow-wow." Say, you fellows that shoot geese, duck and pheasants and so forth and think you get a thrill out of it, imagine the thrill that went through me. When I heard that bark, instantly I would give the horn a long toot, and then I would hear both dogs turn loose and begin to bark furiously and keep it up until I got there and killed whatever they had up the tree. Well, one night about two o'clock I heard them barking furiously up back of the Geary place and I knew that it was a bear or a cougar because they would not bark like that at a fox or wildcat. Well, I could hardly wait for daylight to come, but I knew it wasn't good policy to go before it was light. So I waited until it was light enough to see to travel and I took my Winchester and put 15 cartridges in it, and as I started to go I said to my sister, "If you hear me shoot fifteen times, get on a horse and bring me some cartridges." Now, I said this partly in a joke, but as good luck had it, she took it more seriously than I supposed and counted my shots as they sung out. When I got there, sure enough they had one of the largest black bears I had ever seen. He was up a large fir tree, not very high up, and I knew I had to be cautious or he would come down. The tree stood on a narrow ridge running east and west and, of course, sloped on the north and south. I came up on the south side and kept out of sight until I got opposite the tree, when I turned and proceeded cautiously until I got up close enough to see him, which put me in about 50 yards. So I concluded to shoot from there rather than to take chances on him coming down. So I pulled up and drew a bead on the side of his head and fired and down he came hand over fist, so quick I did not see how it was done. And say, if you will believe me, the fight was on, and a royal battle it was. I ran as fast as I could and when I got there they were going after him right and left. One dog would grab him by the ham and when he turned to strike the dog would let go and the other dog would catch him. In this way they kept him swinging around so fast that it seemed like it was impossible to get a dead shot; but I kept following up and pouring one shot right after another until finally snap the gun went and the last cartridge was gone. By this time they had worked down to the bottom of the hill to a small flat and there he backed up in a bunch of brush and all the dogs could do was just stand in front of him and bay. Great Scott, what must I do? So started for the house and had only gone a short distance until I saw my sister coming across the field in a dead run. I knew what that meant. So I hurried to meet her and she handed me a box of shells. I shoved some in the gun and hurried back and pulled up and gave him a shot in the side of the head. Still he didn't go out, so I gave him another, and over he went. The dogs were too tired to even take hold of him, but both dropped to the ground completely wore out. Now, no doubt a great many people who read this story will imagine that I was taking desperate chances in following up so close and firing one shot right after another into him, but when you take into consideration the fact that the fight was going on on a steep hillside and me being on the upper side and two dogs keeping him busy all the time, I don't consider that I was in any real danger. However, I want to impress upon your mind that it is not good policy to crowd a wounded bear, and don't attempt to track one up that has been shot but leave that to a good dog, and when he bays him, use a little caution or you may get into trouble. Well, I want to say that this was one of the largest black bears I ever saw, and when I skinned him, how many bullet holes do you think I found in the hide? Just exactly 17. Medford News, November 9, 1934, page 1
Seven Deer and
Three Bear
Is Good Day's Hunt for J. Griffin By JOHN B. GRIFFIN Well, I found one person who read my bear story in the News, and it was a woman. Just think of it, a woman interested in a bear story; and besides that, she said her husband was also interested. And they had thought so much about my hunting that they were wondering what was the most game I ever killed in one day. "Mrs. F.-----," I said, "that is not a hard question to answer. The most I ever killed in one day was seven deer and three bear--and I never slaughtered game in all my life nor never killed a deer for its hide." "Oh," she says. "I am awful glad of that. We were afraid you were like Buffalo Bill or those hunters that killed buffalo and deer for their pelts. So now I want to ask a favor of you. I would be glad if you would write and tell us all about that day's hunt. The day you killed seven deer and three bear. I have relatives back East that I want to send the story to, and, of course, I want a true story." "Well," I said, "I will write it, and you can depend on every word as true." Hunted Little Applegate
So now I
will write only the story
of that day's hunt. It would take up too much space to tell of all I
killed on that hunt. I was out for a week's hunt up on the head of
Little Applegate with a man named Royce, a neighbor who lived near me
on Griffin Creek. We camped in a cabin near the mouth of Quartz Gulch,
and the next morning we started out bright and early for the first
day's hunt. After we got up into the woods a half a mile or more, I
told Royce that it would be a good idea to separate and each one go his
own way, as I was not in the habit of hunting with anyone. Royce agreed
to this and started off around the side hill to the north and I went
the opposite way.I soon struck an old cattle trail and was following it along when all at once I discovered four big bucks about three hundred yards below me. They were standing in an open space on a small bench or ridge where there were some scattered pines, and were looking up towards me. I walked right along the same as if I had not seen them at all, and soon I came to a deep gulch that ran down by near where they stood. When I got down opposite the pines, I crawled up the bank until I could see over and there they were still standing and looking up the hill to see what had become of me. And here I was within fifty yards of them. I have thought many times since of what a beautiful sight it was to see those four nice bucks--all fat and sleek and their nice big horns--all unconscious of a man lying there with a deadly Winchester rifle soon to deal death and destruction among them. Well, to make a long story short, the Winchester sung out once . . . twice . . . three times . . . and three big bucks lay stretched out dead. The fourth one made his escape by dashing into the brush and not getting a bullet sent after him. Gee whizz! Three big bucks and the day just begun. I dressed them and fixed them up as best I could and went on clear around the head of that creek and hunted all over that part without even seeing anything at all worth shooting at until about ten o'clock. I concluded to go to camp. What's the difference anyhow. I've got three big bucks. That's good enough for a half a day. So I struck out straight down the ridge that led to camp and had not gone far when I came to the edge of an opening perhaps one hundred yards long and fifty yards wide, and there near the farther end lay a deer. I pulled up and shot, and it never got up. I started down to where it was and another one came out stopping high to see what was going on. When it discovered the other deer deer lying there, it stopped to look, and the Winchester cracked again and it ran about thirty yards and over it went. And out came another--Bang! and down it went. "Gosh," I thought. "How many more?" I started on down and had not gone ten steps when out came another and trotted right by me within ten steps. Once more the Winchester roared and down it went. Well say, put yourself in my place. Wouldn't you feel pretty rich? Well, I did. I was worth about seven million. But I was not through yet. I dressed these deer and fed Trailer, my old bear dog, all the liver he would eat, and [t]racked out, traveling faster than Trailer, for he was so full he just poked along away behind me. All at once I came to where a big bear had crossed the ridge and went down towards the creek. I called to Trailer to hurry up, and when he got there and smelled the track, it was fresh, and away he went down the hill baying at every jump; and in a few minutes I heard him bark up a tree. I went down to where he was and there in a big fir tree was a big black bear and two big cubs. I walked right down to within about ten steps and pulled up and shot the old one square between the eyes, and she came rolling out. Then I shot the two cubs in the head. And now I must go to camp or this story will be so long that the News won't publish it. When I got to camp, Royce was there and had a fire built ready to get dinner. I asked him if he killed anything, and he said no. But he shot [at] a big buck twice standing within eighty yards of him and missed. "Well," I said, "that won't do." Finally he said, "What did you kill?" I said, "Seven deer and three bear." "Oh, you didn't do that, did you?" "Sure I did." Well, after a while Royce asked me again: "Say, John, what did you kill?" "I killed seven deer and three bear." "Why I never heard of anything like that in my life." "Well," I said, "you will find it out when we go to pack them in." "Well, I guess I may as well tell how many deer and bear I killed on this trip. Just nine deer and four bear and a wildcat." Poor Royce never killed a thing, but he got half of the meat, so he was satisfied. Medford News, November
21, 1934, page 1
Grizzly Bear Killed
Near
Ashpole's House, Years Ago One of the greatest hunters and mountaineers that came to the Rogue River Valley in the early days was John S. Miller, who settled on 20 acres across Bear Creek from where Medford now stands, which is now owned by Wig Ashpole. He was a young man at the time of the Whitman massacre, living in Linn County, Oregon, and joined the volunteers who went up to punish the Indians, and stayed until they were licked to a frazzle, then came back and got married and moved to this valley and lived here the balance of his life. At one time he served as Medford's city marshal. [Miller was appointed Special Policeman for the Town of Medford on March 6, 1886.] The first thing he did after locating was to build a house and he made a big corral in which to keep his milk cow during the night. This fence was made of rails and staked and ridered, which made it a secure place to round up cattle or horses either. A small enclosure was made for the calf on one side, and all he had to do was go out in the morning and milk and turn the cow out on the grass (and there was worlds of it in those days) and in the evening she came up to her calf and to be milked. This made it very nice, but one night a big old grizzly came prowling around and this was too easy a job to pass over to have a nice fat cow all ready for him to just walk in and slaughter. So he just walked up and smashed the fence down, and the next morning when John S. went out to milk he found a dead cow lying near the middle of the corral, and upon investigating found it was a huge bear of some kind, as the tracks were big. He left the fence just as it was and went back to the house and got out his muzzle-loading shotgun and loaded up both barrels with heavy buckshot and made up his mind to be on hand that night when the old scamp came back and give him a reception he would not soon forget. He had a fine rifle, one that he afterward carried all through the Rogue River [Indian] wars. But he knew that after dark it would be a chance if he hit him, so he chose the shotgun. Well, evening came at last and just a little before dark he went out and took a position in the corner of the fence and waited, hardly expecting the bear to come until after dark, but old Bruin fooled him. He had been there only a very short time when here he come, walking leisurely along with his head down, no doubt anticipating a great meal. Miller had slid his gun through the fence and was ready for him. He marched right up to the carcass and stepped upon it with both front feet and raised up his head and looked all around before starting in. This exposed his breast fair and square. Just then Miller pulled the trigger of both barrels and dropping the gun ran for the house as fast as he could go. The next morning as soon as it was light he took his rifle and went out to size things up and lo and behold, there lay the old grizzly dead as a mackerel, two loads of buckshot proving too much for him. And it was the last time Miller was ever troubled with bear as long as he lived on that ranch, and although he killed many bear during his lifetime, he never killed one that could compare with this one for size. This grizzly was the only one I have ever heard of being killed right down in the valley, and [it] was killed close to where the Crater Lake Highway passes the Wig Ashpole place, east of the house. [The 1935 Polk's Directory locates Ashpole's residence on "McAndrews near Crater Lake Highway." At that time the highway followed the route of today's Crater Lake Avenue.] As I said before, John S. Miller turned out to be one of the greatest hunters and mountaineers on the Pacific Coast, and at one time killed an elk that was estimated to weigh over a thousand pounds and had antlers that measured exactly six feet in length, and could be stood on their points and a man six feet could walk under. This is no dream, and if anyone doubts it, there is a man living on Applegate right now who was with him at the time and helped him pack it in who will corroborate what I say. Just as it was told to me by Miller himself, whose word was good as gold, and all the oldtimers know it. Medford News, November
30, 1934, page 1
Biggest Grizzlies
Killed Here
Victim of Bruce Grieves' Gun by JOHN B. GRIFFIN Two of the largest grizzlies that have ever been killed in the Siskiyou or Cascade range of mountains, excepting the one killed by Walt Obenchain and his brother, was the one killed by Bruce Grieves and the one killed by Robert Neill, of Ashland. Both of these grizzlies were caught in 40-lb. steel traps. Grieves and his brother Rufus lived on Jenny Creek, a few miles above where it empties into the Klamath River, and were in the cattle business, and this old grizzly got into the habit of coming around every now and then and killing one of their cattle. Sometimes it would be a nice cow, at other times it would be a big fat steer. Bruce was quite a hunter, but this old scamp was too foxy to ever let him get a shot at him, so he commenced to set the trap. But some way or other he would avoid springing it. So Bruce went out one day and in his rounds he found where the old scamp had killed a big steer and eaten his fill, so he started and followed his trail up the hill and it led him to a small round lake on a kind of a bench surrounded by oak brush, and there he had waded in and probably cooled himself off before going to his bed and taking a good long nap before the next meal. This gave Bruce a new idea, which he proceeded to put into effect. So he went home and got his big trap and brought [it] back and set it in this little lake and went back home to wait. Something happened that he didn't get back the next day, but the following morning he took his Winchester and struck out. It was about three miles to where the steer lay, and when he got there sure enough the old fellow had been back and filled up again and had gone off the same direction towards the little lake, and when he got there the trap was gone and the lake was a mass of mud, the oak brush torn to pieces and the whole thing looked like a cyclone had struck there, and then he found where he had struck out around the side of the mountain, tearing down brush, and it looked like he picked the trap up and struck the ground with it. Finally he came to a patch of low brush and went into it. He was on the lower side, so he knew it was not good policy to wallow in like that, so he went around on the upper side and got up on a high stump and looked over and he saw him lying perfectly still. It was a question now what to do. After watching him for a long time, he finally made up his mind to make his way carefully in towards him, anyway, so he moved along slow and sure, with his gun cocked and finger on the trigger until he got within ten steps of him, and still no sign of life, so he went on up to him and the poor old fellow was just barely breathing, so he shot him in the head to put him out of his misery. I never got to see the skin that came off of this grizzly, but I saw his head and teeth and the claws, and if I remember rightly they measured just five inches, and the teeth were fierce. Bruce Grieves and his brother have been dead for many years. But Rufus' wife and son live in Hornbrook, Cal., and I have no doubt but they still have those claws and some of the teeth of that old grizzly. At least I hope they have, and probably anyone who is interested enough in this story to call on them can get to see them. This bear was not weighed, but Bruce Grieves told me himself when we were out looking over the ground where he caught him that he guessed him at 1500 pounds. He looked like a small mountain as he lay there on his side. Medford News, December
12, 1934, page 1
John B. Griffin is now a resident of the Dead Indian country, where he has taken up a piece of government land and commenced to raise stock. Griffin's Dog
Trailer Saves Hide
of Pioneer Bear Hunter Someone Doesn't Believe Stories, Says John, So He Agrees To Call Them Fiction, But Witness Found To Prove Them True; Hunter Gets Scared in This One By JOHN GRIFFIN Well,
well, well! I just found out a day or two ago that these stories I have
been writing for the News
were all fiction stories, and that I never killed a
bear in my life! How did I find it out? Well, I will tell you.
I went into a store the other day where I do most of my trading, and the first thing the storekeeper said to me was: "Say, Mr. H. says you never killed a bear in your life. You know him, don't you?" I said, "No, I don't know anybody by that name. We did have a president by a name similar to that, but I never was personally acquainted with him." So I went off downtown and I met Dee Roberts, whom I have known since he was a little boy, and was with me down on Rogue River one time when I killed five deer, one right after the other. So I said to Dee: "Say, did you ever see me kill a bear?" "Why, yes," he said. "I sure did. Why do you ask me a foolish question like that?" I told him why. "Well," he said, "you tell him he's a liar!" "Oh, no, I wouldn't do that," I said. "Perhaps he never killed one and don't think anyone else ever did." After this we'll call these short stories "Fiction--True Stories." So when anyone reads them they can take their choice. Anyhow, I think it would be nice to be called a good fiction writer. So after this I believe it would be a good idea to head these stories: "Believe It or Not." So here goes: I was camped out in the Dead Indian country once with a man named Templeton, and we had killed four nice bucks, but had only packed two of them in, so Templeton said he would take the horses and go after them, and I could go hunting if I wanted to. I said, "All right, that suits me." So I took Trailer and away I went. I hunted all along the side of the mountain near Condra Glade, and the head of Soda Creek, without seeing a living thing to shoot at. After a while I struck a trail that led down the east side of Soda Creek, so I concluded to send Trailer out on the side so he might scare up something, and I could bring him to me with the horn any time I wanted to, anyway. I kept along the trail for probably a quarter of a mile and came to the edge of a prairie, not a very large one, probably a hundred yards long, and right out in the middle of it sat a huge brown bear. He was sitting on his haunches with his forelegs extended out and paws hanging down and head turned to one side like he was listening to something or some noise he was not sure in which direction. I was right in plain sight and I didn't wait a second, but pulled right up and shot and say! you can believe it or not, that bear came straight for me. I commenced stringing the bullets as fast as I could throw the lever down and up, and still he came, showing no sign of being hit. He was over halfway, when all at once Trailer dashed past me and went straight for him, and as he got near he swung to the right of him so he could get at his ham. This caused the bear to turn to strike at him, which gave me almost a broadside shot. I broke him down in the back, and he sank down and kept turning around and around with his foreparts to keep Trailer away and snorted and snapped his teeth ferociously. I waited for a good chance and shot him in the head. This ended the racket, but I have thought many times that if Trailer had happened to have been a little farther away it is hard to tell how it would have come out as I hadn't got a bullet. But he had seven bullets in him, counting the one that was in his head. Temp and I went and brought him in the next day. He sure was a big one. His hide was one of a bunch of eight I sold to Tom Kinney, who was running a store in Jacksonville at the time. It was the largest one of all. Tom Kinney lives in Medford now, and no doubt remembers buying those hides. Well, perhaps you'll ask, "Were you scared?" Well, I don't know hardly whether I was or not at the time, but gee whizz, I was later. Medford News, January 9, 1935, page 1
Largest Grizzly in
County
Was Killed by Robert Neil By JOHN GRIFFIN At last I am coming back to a grizzly bear story. This is the story of the capture of one of the largest grizzlies that has ever been killed in Jackson County and was killed by Robert Neil, a native son of this county, and formerly mayor of Ashland. It is an interesting story, and I have no doubt [it] will interest the readers of this paper, as it is strictly true in every particular. Bob, as I shall call him, lived about 14 miles east of Ashland, near the Dead Indian Road, in the Cave district. He had a big ranch and was in the cattle business in those days, and it seemed like this old grizzly was too. For whenever he wanted free meat he just simply killed it regardless of whose brand it had on. And it seemed like it was as easy for him to kill a 4-year-old steer as it was to kill a calf. This got to be a frequent occurrence and was aggravating in the extreme, as it was a hard matter to hunt him with dogs or hunt him at all, for that matter. Finally the old fellow got bolder and came down one night and killed two cows belonging to Bob Neil on the ridge within a half or three-quarters of a mile below the house--one near the road to Ashland and one down in the gulch. They were only about a quarter of a mile apart. When Bob discovered these two fine milk cows lying there dead you can imagine his feelings, and Bob determined that kind of business had to stop. So he went down to Ashland and got a bear trap of Paris Hamilton which had been made by Bike Mickleson, a blacksmith, and was supposed to hold the biggest bear that ran the woods. To this he attached a logging chain with a hook at the end so it would catch on bushes and hold him up. The first night he set the trap at the carcass down near the creek, but the old reprobate smelled a mouse and went up and ate off of the one on the hill. The next night he set the trap at the carcass on the hill, and lo and behold, when he went down the next morning he had been down and filled up on the one at the creek. Now he set the trap again at the creek and the old scamp went up to the one on the hill, and again the scamp went to the one at the creek. So he went back home, leaving the trap set, and hitched up a span of horses to the wagon and hauled down a load of stuff and brought the carcass on the hill, slick and clean. That night there were about two inches of snowfall, and when he went down the next morning the trap was gone. The wily old reprobate had been caught at last and it was easy to tell every move had had made on account of the snow. There was nothing attached to the end of the chain, as he had left it loose on purpose so he could drag the trap, as a bear is liable to pull his foot out of a trap if it is fast when they are first caught, as it frightens them and they will make more desperate efforts to get loose than they will after they have dragged the trap a while and then got fastened. He could see where the bear had made some desperate lunges when he first got caught and landed on his back and he had rolled over and over in frantic efforts to get loose and fought the trap until he had broken nearly all his teeth off on the jaws of the trap. He also rolled down several square rods of snow, but the trap stayed with him and he finally had to give it up as a bad job and started out to travel, dragging it along around the mountainside which was covered with all kinds of brush and oak grubs. Sometimes the hook would catch on one of these oak grubs and he would just strip that bush from bottom to top. Bob tracked him around the mountain from 9 o'clock until one in the afternoon--a distance of three or four miles--and finally he circled and came back to within one hundred yards of where he had been caught. Bob was tired and hungry now, so he went home and ate his dinner and filled his Winchester with cartridges and then returned and took up the trail again. After following it some distance, he suddenly heard the rattle of the trap and chain as it was being dragged over some loose rocks in the bed of the creek. Now he was within 50 yards of him and the brush was so thick that he couldn't see out in any direction, so he came to the conclusion that it was a mighty poor place for a bear fight, even if he was in a trap. So he beat a hasty retreat, part of the time on his hands and knees, as he was in considerable of a hurry to get out of there. Just then the idea now was to get at him with as little danger as possible to himself, being entirely alone and not having even a dog, as they had been accidentally poisoned only a few days before. It stood him in hand to be cautious, so after getting [omission] the question was how to get to see him without getting close enough to be in danger. So he concluded to just keep along about even with him until he would come to an open place. The bear was making slow time and would stop now and then and stay right in one place for a long time. Whenever he started to move, Bob could hear the chain and trap rattle. Then he would move along too. Finally Bob got too anxious and got in too close, and the bear discovered him and made a desperate rush to get at him, threshing and tearing the brush, and he was compelled to climb, leaving his gun at the root of the tree. The bear came right up to the tree, rattling and banging the trap, and looked right up at him. This was the first time he had got to see him and was astonished to see that he was so big. He said he looked as broad across the back as a percheron horse and right then he would have given anything in the world if he could have had his gun at that moment. However, the old fellow only stopped a short time and commenced moving slowly along. As soon as he got far enough away for Bob to come down safely, he hiked down in a hurry and, picking up his gun, followed along a short distance and caught sight of him as he was passing through a small opening. Bob dropped down on one knee and let drive, putting a bullet square behind the shoulder. Down he went and rolled over and over, down into the creek .But it was very much alive. Bob kept on firing until he had shot eight times more. About every other shot would bring out a roar. At last all was quiet and Bob moved up closer and gave him another shot, and another at the butt of the ear. And the fight was over. This made eleven shots in all, but the last two were not really necessary. The shooting was done with a 30-30 rifle. It was now six o'clock, making twelve hours of good hard work and no little danger, for if he had got his foot loose from that trap by any chance whatever, it's hard to tell what might have happened, for he certainly would have been a fearful antagonist to deal with in that brush. But he was dead now, and Bob had the satisfaction of knowing that he would kill no more cows. I have no doubt but what this was, to say the least, one of the largest grizzlies ever killed in the Cascade Range, and when you consider the fact that he carried 50 or 60 pounds of steel and iron for miles and miles and hours and hours, you can rest assured that he was a powerful animal and was the grizzly that killed a 4-year-old steer for Mayor [Neil. This ac-]count was given me direct by Robert Neil himself, and there isn't the least doubt but what it is true in every respect. Medford News, January
18, 1935, page 1
Old-Timer Recalls
Long-Ago Fight
With Wolf Near Town of Phoenix By JOHN B. GRIFFIN Since I have been writing these bear stories, I have been asked all kinds of questions about bear, cougars, wolves, etc. Did you ever kill a wolf? Did you ever hear one howl? Were there very many of them here in early days? The first two questions are very easily answered. The first one yes--rather mildly; the next one yes--with pretty strong emphasis. For I have sat by a campfire after night and heard wolves howling in every direction--a long, loud, dismal howl that would almost raise the hair on my head and make the cold chills run up my back. But not in this valley, but in the Steens Mountain country. If you doubt it, ask Bill Hanley or any other old-timers who were out there in early days. But I never saw but one wolf in this valley, which I killed with the aid of my dogs in one of the most desperate battles that Trailer was ever in, and was so lively, I had no chance to use my gun. It happened on the mountain road that skirts the foothills between Griffin and Phoenix, and near the old Ritter place. I was on my way to Wagner Creek and was accompanied by a neighbor whose name was Maxon. We were driving along the road in a two-horse wagon, the two dogs following along close behind, when all at once out came a big gray wolf from the chaparral brush near the road, and came straight for the dogs; and before I had time to get my gun out, they were in one of the most terrible mixups that I ever saw. I jumped out of the wagon and picked up a white oak club that happened to be lying there, and got to them as quick as I could, but it was impossible to get a lick in on him. But pretty soon he got the old Russian terrier by the throat while Trailer had him by the ham, and I gave him a powerful blow on the back of the head which stunned him for a moment and caused him to let go of the dog. Before he could rear back and get Trailer I gave him another one, and don't you forget it. I gave him one right after another until I had the life beat out of him. These two dogs were in many a lively scrap with a bear, but this was one of the most dangerous and desperate fights they ever were in, and I would not have had Trailer in another for anything in the world. He came out of it without getting hurt but very little, but the other dog was about done up. I never heard a wolf howl in this valley, but I heard one in Illinois Valley several years ago. One evening about sundown I and my wife and grandson were sitting on the porch and we heard a long howl up on the mountain a half a mile or more away. I said right then that's a wolf. They both laughed at me and said I didn't know what I was talking about. The next day one of the neighbors came up and told us about something scaring a bunch of calves and making them break through a barbed wire fence, and the next morning he found them in a fence corner near the house. I said, "Do you want me to tell you what scared them?" "Yes, what was it?" "It was a wolf," I said. "I heard him howl last night just before dark." A few days after, Dave Hayes, the assessor, was at our place and told me about a wolf getting in among a band of goats belonging to a man named Richardson, who lived about three miles north of Kerby, and killing 40 of his goats. This sounded like a pretty big story, but when I met Richardson a short time afterwards, he said it was actual fact. He heard the racket and ran with his gun and got sight of him and shot just as it went over a little rise, but did not know whether he hit him or not. But he never showed up again. There used to be quite a number of wolves roamed along the Umpqua Divide and up Elk Creek and Rogue River, and the head of Red Blanket and in the Mount Pitt country, and a few in the Dead Indian country and around Buck Lake, where they used to kill sheep. A man named Reddick had a band of sheep there and was bothered quite a bit by them. He used to try to trap them, but soon found out that it was useless as they were foxy for that. But for all that, I never had them eat deer that I hung up in the woods. Why, I don't know. Medford News, February
8, 1935, page 3
Oregon Pioneer
Spins Yarn
of Dead Indian Country Hunt By John Griffin In this story I am going to tell of Templeton's first hunt with Old Trailer and me. Temp had never seen a bear up a tree nor had he ever shot one. On this hunt we were accompanied by Curtiss Miller, who was born and raised near Gold Hill. Miller died a short time ago, and I have no doubt that he related this story to the members of his family and others who are alive today and can corroborate this story, if some of the doubters show up. The three of us camped on Spencer Creek a short distance from where it empties into Buck Creek in the Dead Indian country. In those days there was no one living in that part of the country except one person who had a small bunch of sheep there. So there were all kinds of bear, deer, cougars, wolves and a few elk. We arrived at the camp shortly before dinner. Temp and I went out for a hunt while Miller went fishing. The course we took was north from the camp and was practically level for some distance. We soon separated. Temp took the right and I the left. I hunted for probably two or three miles without seeing any game, when all of a sudden out went a three-point buck and bounced about thirty or forty yards and stopped and turned broadside and looked back. I drew a bead and fired. At the crack of the gun he jumped straight into the air and ran a short distance and fell with a bullet square through the heart. I dressed him and hung him up to drip good, and went on. In a short time Trailer struck a bear track and away he went and soon went over a ridge and out of hearing. I kept on going in the direction he had taken and in a little while I heard him coming back. Only a few hundred yards farther south from where he had crossed the bridge before and was coming toward me there was a large log with some brush growing up around it, so I climbed up on the log and waited and in a few minutes I saw a big black bear coming towards me. He would run along a short distance and then he would stop a second or two and look back and then come on again. Soon I saw Trailer coming like a cyclone and I could tell that he would soon overtake him. The bear never changed his course and had got near enough that I knew I could kill him before he could get away as soon as Trailer got near enough to see him, he stopped yelping, and just as the bear got up to within about 8 or 10 steps of me, or I should say started to pass me at about that distance away. Trailer overtook him and seized him by the ham and gave him a yank, as the bear turned to strike he let go and got out of the way. The bear turned to go again. Right then I fired and he sank down on his belly and Trailer was coming with such headway that he lit right on top of him and was no doubt surprised when he heard the gun crack as neither he nor the bear knew I was near. Now I went on and after awhile I killed another deer. I was pretty well satisfied and started back to camp. I did not get far, however, when bang went a gun. I threw up the horn and gave it a toot, and I heard Temp call to me to come to him. I hurried up and when I got there I found that Temp was standing at the foot of a big tree, looking up, and upon investigation I found that he had treed two brown bear cubs. He was terribly excited and was shaking all over with the "buck ague." He said he had shot at the old one but had missed and she had run away and the cubs had run up this tree. He wanted to shoot the cubs right out at once, but I told him he had better wait awhile until he got over his excitement, but no, he wouldn't wait a minute, so I said, "Temp, hadn't you better let me shoot them out, for just as sure as you wound one of them the old bear will be back in double quick time and we will sure have a fight on our hands and no foolin'." No, sir, he treed them and he wanted to shoot them out himself. "Well, all right," I said, "go to it." So he laid his gun alongside a tree and bang--a miss, bang--another miss, 4 or 5 more bangs and he hit one of the cubs in the leg and he began to squeal. I said, "Look out, Temp, she'll be here. Get behind a tree and do it quick." I turned and ran about ten steps and got behind a big fir tree and sooner than it would take to tell it we heard the brush cracking and she dashed into the opening, which was about thirty yards across. But before she was halfway Trailer jumped her and swung past her as she turned to strike. This gave me a quartering shot and I put a bullet through her breast. It broke her shoulder and before she could recover Trailer had her by the ham and bang went Temp's gun and he missed slick and clean, and as she swung broadside I put a bullet behind her shoulder and down she went. But she commenced to get up and I shot again and she went down for good. I asked Temp why he had stopped shooting, and he said his gun was empty. So I let him have my gun and he took a rest against the side of the tree and commenced to shoot. As there was no danger, I stood around and let him shoot and finally he killed one and wounded the other so bad that he came down the tree, and I gave him my tomahawk and told him to finish the job, which he did and now we had 4 bear and 2 deer in just a half a day. Now we went back to camp and when we told Miller about it he thought it was wonderful. The next day we packed them in and Temp killed a five-point buck. Then we started home. I started out first on horseback, and saw a deer right by the side of the road and killed it. We got home with 4 deer and 4 bear. Now I hope that there are some folks around Gold Hill whom Mr. Miller has told this story to and will get to read it. Medford News, February
22, 1935, page 4
Old-Timer Tells a
Special
Bear Story for Little Girl John B. Griffin A few days ago I met a little school girl about nine years old, who attends the Lincoln School. She said, "How do you do, Grandpa. Are you the one who writes the bear stories that are being published in the Medford News?" I said, "Yes." So she said, "Grandpa, I just love to read those stories, and when the paper comes, I get it as quickly as I can, and read the bear stories the very first thing. Now Grandpa, did you ever miss when you shot at a bear?" "Well, I sure have," I told her. I haven't see the little girl since, but I sure appreciated what she said so much that I am going to write a bear story for her special benefit, and tell her about the bear I shot at and missed. I hope she will be as well pleased with the story as I was with the remark she made about the stories I have been writing. It was quite a contrast from the remark of a Central Point woman, who told the man who called on her and asked her to subscribe to the News, "No, sir. I will not subscribe to a paper that prints a lot of lies like those bear stories." So according to her way of thinking, Bruce Grieves, Robert Neil, Henry Chapman, Mr. Cole and myself are all liars. However, I am going to write this story for that nice little school girl, and I shall hope to meet her again and find out who she is, so I can show her old Trailer's picture--Trailer, the dog that treed all those bears that I never killed. Ha! Ha! And this is going to be as true a story as was ever written, and one that this lovely little girl can put in her scrapbook, as many women in this town are doing, and keep to show when she has grown old like I am, so now I will tell it as it happened in the Dead Indian country many years ago. I lived out there in those days [in the late 1880s], and one day I took Trailer and went out on a hunt down on the west side of Dead Indian Creek towards Soda Springs. I was not caring about killing a bear, but rather a deer, as bears were not fat at that time of year. But sometimes Trailer would get after a bear and either tree him or bay him. In that case I was compelled to kill the bear or it would have a tendency to discourage a dog like Trailer, that had been trained to catch them. Well, this was no exception to the case, as the first thing Trailer struck was a bear track, and away he went, down, down, along the side of the hill for several hundred yards; then up the hill, and soon another turn. I could hear him coming straight towards me--yelling at every jump. I stood still and waited, as I was in a comparatively open spot and the brush was thick ahead of me. I did not have long to wait, for I soon heard the brush crashing and out came a big black bear, running like a coyote, and coming straight towards me. He did not see me as he was too much interested in escaping from that terror that was coming like a cyclone behind him. I pulled up and shot just as he passed behind a small bush and I missed him slick and clean. He whirled back and away he went down the hill towards the creek. Soon Trailer came, and when he got to where the bear turned back he came on several yards before he missed the scent. I gave the horn a toot to let him know I was there, and in a few minutes he struck the track again and away he went. I could hear him going away off towards the Dead Indian Soda Springs, then over a ridge and out of hearing. I kept on down that way and it was not long until he came back in hearing again, towards me only a little higher up the hill. In a few minutes I heard him stop and commence to bay. I knew what that mean: the bear had got tired of running and had stopped in a thick patch of brush. Backed up against the brush, Trailer could not get at the bear's hams; all he could do was just stand in front of him and bark. Now the only thing for me to do was to get up there as quietly as possible without him discovering me and get a shot if possible. It was awful brushy. But fortunately, after I had climbed along for a short distance, I came to where a large tree had fallen and lay up the hill near where the bear was. I knew I dare not make the least noise so he could hear me, so I got down on my hands and knees and crawled along next to the log till I got opposite to where they were, then I raised up carefully and looked. I could see Trailer but couldn't see the bear for the life of me. The log was smooth, as the bark had all slipped off, so finally I crawled up on top of the log and, dropping my feet down on the other side, I sat there and kept my eyes on the spot where I was almost sure the bear was. After [a] while I discovered a movement of his head which exposed the butt of his ear. Aha! That was enough. I pulled up and, taking careful aim, I fired. Down he went, and I could hear Trailer shaking him, so I knew I had made a dead shot. The brush was so thick I did not attempt to get him out, but skinned him and packed the hide out on my back, and this is the end of the story. But I am dedicating it to the lovely little girl just to show much I appreciate her saying, "Grandpa, I just love to read those bear stories," and when she reads this story, I want her to come to 512 [West] Jackson Street and tell me who she is, and I will show her old Trailer's pictures and a pair of antelope horns from an antelope that I killed on the 17th of October, 1873--sixty-one years ago. Medford News, March
15, 1935, page 4
Cougars Once Roamed
Woods
of County, Says John Griffin Beasts Will Only Attack When Cornered or Startled Is Opinion of Old Woodsman; Harrowing Tales Recounted By JOHN B. GRIFFIN Since writing the bear stories I have been asked a number of questions about cougars: "Are cougars dangerous?" "Did you ever kill a cougar?" etc., etc. Well, this last question always makes me laugh. How could a man hunt, as I hunted with a dog like Trailer, any length of time without killing a cougar. And I will say this much, that I honestly believe that I have saved more deer forty times over than I ever killed in all my life, as it is estimated that a cougar will kill an average of fifty deer a year. Now, that answers that question. Are They Dangerous?
The other
question: "Are they
dangerous?" Well, there is a difference of opinion in that respect. I
always thought they were the most dangerous animal that roamed the
woods, as they are in some respects like a cat--they attack when they
are in no danger themselves, and aim to crush their victim without
giving him a chance for his life. I have had them follow me, and I know
of others they have followed.Baily Houston, an old-time resident in the Applegate country, was hunting one day and killed a small deer. He was packing it in on his back, when he heard a noise behind him, and upon turning around and looking back, saw a large cougar only thirty feet behind him. When it was it was discovered, it crouched down and lay still, looking directly at Baily, who pulled up and shot it, putting a bullet square between its eyes, which ended its career. The reader may draw his own conclusions, but in my opinion it would not be wise to take chances. Resents Male's Death
Bruce
Kitterman, an old resident
of the Illinois Valley, told me he was out hunting for deer with a
friend in the Siskiyous once upon a time, camping out. In those days
they hunted with muzzle-loading rifles. One day they went out together
and came to a very brushy gulch. This man agreed to follow along up the
gulch, and Bruce was to keep along above so he could see a deer if one
ran out up the hill on the opposite side, and get a shot. They wanted
to keep as nearly parallel to each other as they could, and it was sure
a fine thing that they did, for they hadn't proceeded far before the
man along the gulch came to a small opening, and there, right in front
of him, were two large cougars, a male and a female. He pulled right
down and shot and killed the female dead. The old male attacked him
furiously. The man jerked his knife and tried to defend himself, at the
same time yelling like a Comanche Indian. Bruce rushed down to give him
help, and was only a few minutes getting there and, taking in the
situation, shot and killed the cougar instantly. But in the short time
it tore the man's clothes all off, and tore him up so badly that Bruce
had to pack him in on his back, which was some job if you will listen
to my gentle voice. In a few days, however, the man was able to ride a
horse and they went home.Butte Falls Man Followed
Only a few
weeks ago I was told
about a man near Butte Falls. He was out in the timber looking around,
his little boy with him, when he passed by a large log, and happening
to turn and look back, discovered a large cougar coming along on top of
the log. When it saw it was discovered it stopped and crouched down a
little and looked straight towards them. Having no gun, the man struck
right out for home, keeping the boy close to him, and he saw nothing
more of the cougar.Griffin Has Experience
One time
when I was living in the
Illinois Valley, I was followed by a cougar. It is not a very long
story, so I will tell you about it now. One summer, Captain Inskeep of
the Portland police came out and spent his vacation near where I lived.
We got pretty well acquainted, and when he and his wife got ready to go
back I took them over to Grants Pass so they could take the train. The
Captain had a fine thoroughbred female Collie with him which he gave to
me. I took her with me on a squirrel hunt, and carried with me only a
.22-caliber rifle. I went farther than I intended or I would have taken
a heavier gun. I struck a trail and followed along through the timber,
and after awhile I came out into quite an opening, perhaps 75 or 100
yards across. Just as I got to the opposite side I heard a cougar
scream back on the trail I had just come along. It was near the edge of
the timber, so I got behind a stump and watched for the cougar to come
out into the opening where I could shoot it, but it didn't show up, and
in a short time I heard it scream again, this time a hundred yards or
more below the trail, and in a little while I heard it again still
farther away. I have been told that they will follow a female dog and
kill it. How true this is I do not know. But I will say this much,
don't be too brave when you are dealing with a cougar or your may run
up against a snag.In my next story I will tell you about two cougars that followed me into camp late one evening, and how both of them came to grief. But I wasn't hunting with a muzzle-loading rifle. Of course I realize that certain parties who don't subscribe to the News will borrow a neighbor's paper and read this story and say it is a lie. We'll write it anyhow, believe it or not, as Ripley says. Medford News, March
22, 1935, page 1
Two Cougars in One
Day
Fall Before John Griffin's Rifle Little Butte Country, Near Mt. Pitt, Once Happy Hunting Ground; Deer, Bear, Cougar and Wolves Roamed Hills Together By JOHN GRIFFIN
In
this story I am going to tell in part of a hunt in the Fish Lake
country in the vicinity of old Mt. Pitt, where we had the fight with
the bald-faced bear, one of the most ferocious bears that roamed the
woods.
Camped on Little Butte
On
this hunt, Temple was with me, as usual. We made our camp upon the
banks
of a little stream that headed at the foot of Black Butte, one of the
highest mountains in the range with the exception of Mt. Pitt. This
stream is really the south fork of Little Butte, which empties into the
Rogue River near Medford. This was a lovely camping place in those days
and could only be reached with pack horses through miles and miles of
heavy timber.
Stream Ran Small
The stream had just enough fall to make it run smooth and even along
banks that were fringed with fir and white pine and also prairies with
grass two feet high or more. The north was a thick belt of timber for a
half a mile or more and then opened into a large prairie called Elk
Prairie. To the east rose Black Butte, to the west, Round Mountains,
and to the north old Mt. Pitt, that grand old mountain the people of
southern Oregon love so well.
View Was Beautiful
From the summit
one can see hundreds of miles in all directions and can look down
almost into the famed Crater Lake and also the famous Rogue River
Valley. To the east
and
south one can look all over the Klamath County and the lava beds
where Captain Jack and his little band of Modoc Indians made their last
stand. In those days it was a wild country and all kinds of game roamed
the woods. Deer, bear, elk, cougars and wolves--the big gray fellows
that feared nothing when hungry.
Well, the next morning after Temp and I arrived at our camp, I took my rifle and went upon on the south side of the creek and hunted pretty well over to within a short distance of Lake of the Woods before I got a shot. At length I came to the edge of a prairie and upon looking to the extreme opposite side I discovered three deer; two lying down and the other standing. It was a long shot, and as I was in the timber out of sight, I concluded to try and get closer and try for all three. So I turned back into the timber and went around the prairie. Seven-Pointer Bagged
I was now
within 40 yards of the seven-pointer, which it proved to be. I made up
my mind to kill it, which I knew I could do, and take chances on
getting one or both of the others. So I placed the gun across a log and
drew a fine bead on the big fellow's neck and fired. At the crack of
the gun he went all heels and as the other one turned to look, the
Winchester cracked again. He ran a short distance and over he
went. The third deer was going at a trot to get out of there, but too
late! The Winchester cracked a third time and down he went. It took
quite a little time to dress and hang them up.
Then I started out again and went south towards the Fort Klamath road. As I began to realize I was a long distance from camp, I finally turned west and hit the trail we had went in on (as there was danger of getting lost). This thought hastened me along and I was hitting the high places when I saw a small deer standing directly in front of me. It was just the thing for camp meat, so I pulled up and killed it and fixed it up and swung it on my back and away I went again. Soon I struck the trail we went in on and this cheered me up and I hiked along now feeling pretty good. The sun was getting low and to make it a little more disagreeable I heard the low dismal howl of a gray wolf, which had a tendency to make cold chills run all over me. Trailed by Cougar
I
hurried along and was getting within a half or three-quarters of a mile
of camp when all at once I was sure I heard a slight noise behind me. I
sure was on the alert and to my surprise--to say the least--I saw a
large cougar within 30 steps. My rifle came to my shoulder quick as
lightning.
Trailer to Rescue
When
he saw he was discovered he half crouched and with his head low on the
ground looked straight at me. I caught a bead square between the eyes
and fired. I saw him bowl over and at the same time I heard a bush
crack at the back so I threw the deer down and hit out pretty lively
and kept blowing the horn, and in a few minutes I heard Trailer coming.
When he got to me he reared up on his hind paws and looking up, said as
plain as words, "What do you want?" I waited for Temp and we hurried
back and when Trailer got that cougar scent and track he was only a few
minutes putting it up and we both shot to make sure. It rolled over
dead.
One was a male, the other a female--both big ones. Gosh, I sure didn't sleep good that night, for every time I thought of that confounded cougar it would make the cold chills run up and down my back. This was only the first day's hunt. The whole story of the hunt was published in Forest and Stream, for which I received $25, but I will write it for the News in installments, as there is, no doubt, thousands who have never read it. However, in closing, I will tell you I skinned these two cougars and left the feet and head on the hides so they could be mounted and sold [them] to a merchant in Ashland. The first was sold to George Engele and the other to Doctor Helms. Medford News, May 15, 1935, page 1 Griffin Rescues Partner from
Bald-Faced Bruin
The next morning I wanted to go over to Fish Lake to get some fish but
Temp said, "No, I'm going to get me a buck," so I saddled up and struck
out for Fish Lake alone. I took the gun and dogs along, though I didn't
intend to hunt, but this proved to be a very fortunate move, for there
was in store for us more excitement that day than we had ever dreamed
of.By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
The
next morning after killing the cougars, as told in a previous
story, Temp and I took the horses and went out after the three big
bucks I had killed the day before. When we got where they were we tied
up our horses and went over toward Black Butte to hunt awhile before
starting back to camp. This time we had old Trailer and Ranger
with,
and, as I have mentioned before, they were two of the best bear dogs on
earth.
Pick Up Fresh Track
It wasn't long until they scented a fresh bear track and went to work
on it. It was easy to see that the bear had been wandering around
turning over rocks and logs in his search for worms and ants, so it
wasn't long until the dogs got him strung out, and away they went. Temp
and I pulled for high ground, and as we could hear them going toward
camp we were in hopes that they would tree him near there.
Returned to Camp
In
this we were disappointed, as they swung to the right around the west
side of Black Butte and treed on the other side. The only thing we
could do now was to return and load on our deer and go back to camp. We
got back about one o'clock, and after eating a bite and letting the
horses do the same we saddled up and struck out again. We went across
Elk Prairie, crossed Butte Creek at Fish Lake ford and spent the
balance of the afternoon around the side of old Mt. Pitt, all without
success, so returned to camp.
Dogs Out All Night
It
was now too late to pursue any kind of game, so we had to wait until
morning. We were up bright and early but still no dogs. They were sure
staying with him. As soon as it was light we were off and steered
straight for little Round Mountain, which lies west of Elk Prairie and
east of the Collister [McAllister] Soda Springs on Little Butte Creek,
from the top of which we could hear in every direction.
Trailer Answers Horn
In
an hour or so we reached the top and were very much disappointed, for
we
were unable to hear a sound. I told Temp that perhaps they had been at
the tree so long that they were not barking steady and I would blow the
horn, feeling sure that if old Trailer heard it he would answer mighty
quick. I raised up the horn, which I carried at my side, and blew it
loud and long. As the sound reverberated and died away, old Trailer
answered. Talk about a thrill! Temp jumped straight to his feet and let
out a yell. I cautioned him to keep still and blew the horn again and
both dogs began to bark vigorously. We started down the mountain and I
could hardly keep Temp from running. It was nearly a mile down to where
they were and when we began to get close, we kept behind trees out of
sight until we got close enough to fill him with lead, should he
undertake to come down.
At last we stepped right out and walked up under the tree, but he had no intention of coming down. He was a big mealy-nosed brown bear and he sat in the forks of that tree as unconcerned and secure as though he had found a safe place to hole up for the winter. Afraid to Shoot Him
The
dogs were wild now and tore around the tree barking savagely. I said,
"Shoot him, Temp."
"Not me," Temp said, "he's too big for me." "All right then," said I. "I'll shoot him. I'm going to shoot him in the head and you be ready if I should make a miscue, for it will never do to let him get down here alive." I waited back a few paces and, taking careful aim, pulled the trigger. Bang! Out he rolled like he had been hit on the head with a sledge hammer and came tumbling down through the limbs, dead when he struck the ground. Both dogs piled onto him and we let them shake him around as long as they wanted to, for they had been waiting a long time for the chance. Temp now went back after the horses while I got the bear ready to pack and brought with him some venison for Trailer and Ranger, and it was sure delightful to see them devour it. Tries Luck at Fishing
Temp started out after his buck, and when he got about halfway up the mountain he struck a big buck track, and after following it awhile found where it had gone down into a basin that was full of high brush so he knew it would [omission] to follow it into the brush. For this reason he decided to go up on the rimrock above where he could see over. Selecting a favorable place, he sat down and looked over the basin for a long time, then all at once he saw the top of a bush shake. Soon he saw it shake again. He was sure now that it was a deer browsing in the tender leaves of the brush, but kept still and waited a few minutes longer. Then the point of a horn came into sight. By this time he was getting impatient and concluded to take a chance shot, so he pulled down and drawing a bead about where he thought the head ought to be, fired. He missed. Up came the head and bang went the gun again. Another miss. Away went the buck crashing through the brush, with Temp stringing bullets after him at every jump and missing every time. At last the buck emerged into an open place and Temp got a bullet into him. The deer turned, quartering along the hill, and Temp kept shooting, but soon the deer disappeared in the brush. Temp went down, picked up the track and followed it awhile, but finally had to give it up and started back to camp to get Ranger to catch it for him. Meets Bear, 2 Shells Left
Examining
his gun he found that he had but two cartridges left as he arrived
within a few yards of Elk Prairie. Crossing the Fish Lake trail he
happened to look to the left and saw what he thought was a big black
bear coming along the trail directly toward him. The bear was walking
slowly along with his head down and had not seen Temp at all. Pulling
his gun up quickly he fired, but the hammer snapped on an empty
chamber. Temp had forgotten to reload. He quickly threw in a load and
the noise attracted the bear. Halting, the bear threw up its head,
looking squarely and fearlessly at Temp, and now for the first time
Temp
saw its white face and all the stories he had ever heard of the
ferociousness of the bald-faced bear flashed through his mind. The bear
had hesitated but an instant and now came straight on. Temp thought he
was entitled to get into as much action as the bear, so he didn't
hesitate either. He ran for the nearest tree and began to climb,
leaving his gun on the ground.The bear came straight on and when he got close to the tree drew himself up to his full height and champed his teeth hungrily. This struck terror to Temp's heart and he commenced to yell like a Comanche Indian, with the hope that I would hear him and come to his rescue. Old Bald Face down below did not offer to leave; he reared up and looked up at Temp then dropped down on all fours and walked around the tree and then sat up on his haunches looking up at Temp in a way that made the cold chills run up his back, and all the time Temp was yelling like a madman. He told me afterwards that he thought he was up that tree for two hours, but in reality it was about twenty minutes. Poor Fishing, Good Luck
I hope you won't think I was foolish
enough to
follow that wounded bear; if you do, you have another guess coming. I
struck out for camp, and when I was about halfway, I saw a big buck
lying down and looking over his shoulder at me. He was about 125 yards
away from me. I pulled down, shot and saw him jump up and stagger away
wounded. I moved on in a lively manner to camp. How I did long for the
two dogs! I built a fire and made coffee in record time. I saddled up
my horse and called the dogs and we were off to where I had shot the
big buck. There was a trail of blood, and I sent Ranger after him
alone, as I knew both dogs would try to kill him. Keeping Trailer back
I soon heard the baying of Ranger, who had backed the buck among the
limbs of a big pine tree. Within 50 yards, I shot him in the head. He
was a fine deer, nine points on each horn. (To my knowledge these horns
are in Ashland to this day.) I
had had poor fishing and was on my way back to camp when, just as I was
emerging from the timber into Elk Prairie, I heard Temp yell. I did not
realize for a few seconds what it was, so stopped my horse and
listened. Then it came again, and this time I knew who it was and lit
out as fast as I could go, the dogs following behind. When I got within
about a hundred yards Trailer and Ranger dashed past me like the wind
down the edge of the prairie and dived into the woods.
Trailer to the Rescue
In
less than a minute I heard a terrific racket and heard Temp yell "Go
after him, Trailer," then out into the open dashed the big bald-faced
[bear], and the fight was on. Two wonderful dogs that knew just how to
fight and one of the fiercest and most fearless bear that roams the
woods.
When he struck the open ground where the dogs had a fair chance to fight both seized him by the hams, but this bear was different. Instead of swinging around in an attempt to throw them off, he sat down on his haunches in an attempt to crush them with his weight, but just then something happened that no one present figured on. The old cur dog that had been left in camp arrived on the scene and, sizing up the situation in a trice, jumped and grabbed the bald-face by the side of the head. This brought the bear up standing, and in an instant he gave the dog hanging to his jaw a swipe that sent him rolling about fifteen feet. Then he swung around to get at the other dogs, but they were too foxy for him and let go and got out of the way. They got right down to business now and began to work on him systematically. Temp Comes Out of Tree
I
rushed in to where Temp was and found that he was down out of the tree
now and picking up his gun. I gave him four shells, all I had, and we
ran out to the edge of the prairie. By this time they were out some
fifty to sixty yards and the fight was raging fast and furious. It was
a great sight to witness, and the dogs were getting their work in now,
without taking too many chances of getting hurt. We waited for a chance
when we were both loaded up again, and when it came both fired at once.
Temp put a bullet through his body and I tried for the head, but hit
low and broke his jaw.
Old Lion Gets Sat On
When
the guns cracked, Old Lion sprang and caught him by the side of the
head again. The bear threw his paw around him and sank right down on
him. We gave Old Lion up for good; we felt sure that he would be chewed
up in short order, for at this time I did not know that I had broken
Old Bald Face's jaw. We now ran up several steps and began pouring the
lead into him and in a few minutes the old dog slowly crawled out from
under. I was now within a few steps and, carefully placing my shot, put
a bullet into his brain and he rolled over dead.
Poor Old Lion was so badly used up we could hardly get him to camp, but Trailer and Ranger came through without a scratch, and was soon all ready for another battle. Temp said that he never was so tickled in all his life when Trailer dashed in and tackled that bear, and he always spoke of him as being the finest dog on earth. Medford News, July 5, 1935, page 1 John Griffin and William Neil came in from Dead Indian Saturday with a couple of fat bucks, one of which was an unusually large fellow with a fine pair of antlers. They disposed of the venison readily. Another Deer and Bear Story
by an Old Pioneer By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
One evening about four o'clock, when I was living in the Dead Indian
country [circa 1887-1893],
I saddled my horse and, taking Trailer and Ranger, I struck out for the
woods for a short hunt. I really didn't expect to run across a bear
but wanted a deer, as our meat supply was low and we had company with
us, friends from Phoenix.
Dogs Strike Bear Track
I
had not gone a mile when the dogs struck a bear track, and away they
went! I followed them as rapidly as I could, hoping that they would
tree it. It wasn't long until they were out of hearing going north
toward Fish Lake in a lively chase, the air ringing with "dog"
comments. I rode all evening and got up on high ground, but lost track
of them. The bear had evidently a big start ahead and made good use of
his time. All I could do now was to return home and wait until tomorrow
and start out again. I knew those dogs would overtake him somewhere,
but the question was where?
Bucks Stop to Look Back
The
next morning I saddled my horse and started out again, trusting that I
could guess the right course. Frequently I stopped to listen. I came to
a small stream, its banks lined with patches of brush, and a four-point
buck and a forked horn crashed out in front of me. They bounded away
for a short distance and both stopped broadside to look back. I slid
off my horse in double-quick time and shot the four-pointer first; the
other started away and I shot and killed him, too. They were fine and
sleek, I thought as I dressed them up. I decided to continue my hunt
for the dogs and return the next day and pack the deer in.
Dogs Come Trailing Back
One
of the highest peaks in that part of the country was just north of me;
I rode to the top where I could see in every direction and hear any
sound like Trailer's bark for miles. But no sir, not a sound.
Disgusted, I departed for home, and I hadn't been in the house twenty
minutes when Trailer and Ranger came trotting in. I was overjoyed to
see them.
The next day I took my horses and packed grub and blankets and camped near where I had my two bucks hanging. That evening I left the dogs in camp recovering from their previous long hunt and managed to kill two more deer, which made me a total of four. Early the following morning I decided to have a final look-around before departing for home with my four deer. The dogs were so comfortably resting on their bed of saddle blankets that I just picked up my gun and backed out alone. Bear Caught Seeking Grubs
I
didn't see any game of any kind and went about two miles when I heard a
slight noise in the brush not far from me. I discovered signs of a bear
turning over rocks and rotten logs for bugs. "Aha," said I and dropped
my gun down on my left arm, with my right thumb on the lock and finger
on the trigger. I proceeded very cautiously a short distance when
suddenly a large brown bear came in sight about sixty yards away. She
was walking slowly along, turning her head from side to side, looking
for bugs, and perfectly oblivious of me. I drew the gun up, and aimed
between the eyes, but I am satisfied she swung her head to the right as
I fired, striking her in the shoulder. Down she went and rolled out of
sight in the brush before I could get in another shot; then I saw a
large cub run up a fir tree.
Didn't Follow Wounded Bear
With the two dogs, I proceeded to the place where I had shot the bear. When the dogs smelled blood, they went wild. In less than two minutes they had her, and the fight was on. It was the prettiest fight I ever saw. First one would catch her by the ham, then the other, until they almost had her licked to a frazzle. Neither of them got a scratch. I took a bead and shot her dead, then I went to the big fir where Cubby was away up in the top. I pulled up and shot him square between the eyes, and down he came. The hunt was over except the packing, which was some job for one man alone. I had a double block and tackle which lightened the burden and made it comparatively easy to load them on the horses. There were five deer, two of which were large bucks, and two bears--a good haul for a hunt that entailed one night of camping. Now, I must tell you about the other bear treed by Trailer and Ranger in the beginning. They caught up with him on the north fork of Butte Creek near McAllister Springs. John Robinson, a resident of Medford at that time, was camped at the Springs on a hunting and recreation trip; it was he who stepped in and killed the bear. A week or so after the occurrence I met him in Medford, and he told me about it. I was glad that he was there to go to old Trailer in my place, as it was 20 miles away and I probably never would have located them. Now, my friends, when you read this story, you can read it with the assurance that you are reading a true story, and one that has never been written before. Medford News, July 19, 1935, page 1 John Griffin's dogs started a bear at Johnson's Prairie on Jenny Creek one day recently and followed it all the way to the McAllister Soda Spring on Butte Creek, some twenty miles, and treed it there. A couple of men at that place heard the dogs barking, knew whose they were and started for the tree expecting to get the bear. They were not disappointed. The bear was there and they killed it, after which the dogs contentedly struck out for home. Trailer Caught First Bear
Medford
News, September 11, 1935, page 1When Less Than a Year Old By John B. Griffin
When Trailer was just a little over a year old he treed his first bear,
a feat not often accomplished by a young dog, especially one that had
never had any previous experience, or training with an older dog. All
of which goes to show that he was a natural bear dog, which his record
proves. By those who knew him best, he was classed as the best
single-handed bear dog on the Pacific Coast, and this was conceded by
men who did and had owned some mighty good bear dogs. Crit Tolman
hunted with me a great deal, and although he had a number of good bear
dogs, some of which had cost him a lot of money, he always said that
Trailer was the only genuine bear dog that he ever seen. However that
may be, if I should write an account of every bear he treed it would
fill a good-sized book.
Henry Remembers Dogs
Medford News, August
7, 1935, page 1
I
met a man in Medford just a few days ago who came up to me and said,
"How do you do, Mr. Griffin, you don't know me do you?"
"No," I said, "I know your face but I can't [re]call your name." "Well," he said, "My name is Henry. A long time ago I was working for a man on Griffin Creek, and your bear dog caught thirteen bears that fall." "You missed it just one," I replied, "he caught fourteen." The season when he was three years old he caught twenty, several of them on Big and Little Applegate. In the early days the bears used to come right down in our fields and kill big fat hogs and most of the time would get away with it, for it seemed like we could never get a dog that would tree them. But the time I speak of old Bruin got badly fooled. Bear Gets After Dogs
Although
it had been some time since a bear had killed a hog on our ranch, when
I heard a hog squeal about ten o'clock one night after I had gone to
bed, I said to my wife, "That's a bear."
I jumped up and grabbed my gun and ran outside to find that Trailer and the old cur dog were already on the way and soon I heard Trailer going up the hill after him and sending me word at every jump. The other dog had been hurt by a bear, and when he got to the track he stopped and commenced to bark and would go no farther. In a few minutes I heard Trailer commence to bark at the foot of a tree. He had overtaken the bear and made him climb. I urged the other dog to go and when he saw me with a gun he went and in a very short time he reached the tree and both barked furiously. In the meantime John S. Miller, who was staying at my sister's place nearby, came to me, but he had no gun. In a short time we had got to the tree and sure enough there he was up a large bull pine and we could see him plainly. Miller asked me to give him the gun as he had had more experience than I had, so I handed him my 44 Winchester and he up and banged away and missed him completely. In less time than it takes to tell it, he was down and away he went with both dogs right after him and in about a hundred yards they put him up in a large dead fir. The stars were shining brightly, and I could see him plainly enough. I had never killed but two bears at that time and this was the first one I had ever seen up a tree, but I had shot coons out of a tree after night and I had learned not to try to take a sight, but to cock the gun, hold it down with my finger on the trigger, keep my eyes on the game, bring the gun right up in line with the game and pull the trigger. So I did this and when the gun cracked, Mr. Bear came tumbling down through the dead limbs and the dogs piled on him and commenced to shake him savagely. We waited a few minutes before we went to look, but there was no danger; old Bruin had received a bullet right through his heart and was dead before he struck the ground. This was the beginning of the career of as fine a dog as ever stood on four legs, and I know he had more friends in Jackson County than any dog that was ever bred here. To give you an idea of the opinion of hunters who had hunted with me and thus knew of Trailer's worth and dependability at first hand, I will relate on incident that happened in Ashland. A man by the name of Puckett lived out a few miles beyond Parker Station on the old Klamath Falls road and owned a dog that he called "Swift." Happening in at Burris' saloon in Ashland one day he met Squire Parker, who had hunted with me and knew Trailer well. During the conversation Trailer was mentioned. Puckett made the remark that he had as good a bear dog as Trailer. Well, he sure jumped into a hornet's nest, for he got called right now. Squire Parker offered to bet him a hundred dollars to fifty that Trailer would catch three bears to his dog's one, both hunting day about from the same camp. This was too much confidence for Puckett and he had to squeal enough. I tell this only to show the high regard and the great confidence that Trailer's friends had in him, and he sure earned every bit of it. In This Bear Hunt,
John Griffin Forgets His Gun By John B. Griffin
In
this story I am going to tell the readers of my most successful bear
hunts, and for fear that I may make the story too long, I will tell
only the principal and most interesting parts.
The friend who was with me on this hunt later became a resident of Ashland and at one time was mayor of that town, as well as being vice-president of one of the banks there, but in this story I am going to call him just plain Bob [Robert P. Neil]. Bob's Hunting Little Known
I
have no doubt that there are a great many residents of Ashland who will
be surprised to know that Bob ever hunted bear or ever hunted at all
for that matter, but let me tell you, don't deceive yourself, for in
those days there were few men in Jackson County who could lay it over
Bob in either shooting or hunting, which was demonstrated to my entire
satisfaction on this trip.
Bob and I used to live neighbors in the Dead Indian country in those days, and it was from there that we started on the hunt that I am going to tell you about. The region around Mt. Pitt was our destination, where bear, deer, elk and wolves abounded and we went, as the old saying is, loaded for bear, for it was bear that we wanted and we took two bear dogs with us that we knew could be depended upon. Trailer, the famous old bear dog that the readers have heard so much about in my stories, and Ranger, one of the best helpers he ever had, so we were ready to follow them to the end of the trail. 44 Winchester Good Gun
We
started out with five pack horses and a 44 Winchester apiece with
plenty of ammunition and plenty of grub. Now, in this day and age some
people might think it strange that anyone would go out to hunt big game
with a 44 Winchester, but in those days, a high-powered gun was scarce,
and let me tell you I have been in some pretty close places when all I
had to depend upon was the 44 Winchester, and I always managed to come
out all right.
By noon of the first day we had made Web-Foot Prairie. Here was an old cabin with a fireplace in it that had been built several years before by Bob Neil, Bill Daly, Paris Hamilton and others, and let me add that Bill Daly and Paris Hamilton were two wonderful hunters and extra good shots, too. Streams Were Beautiful
Medford News, August
14, 1935, page 1
We
cooked dinner here and let our horses fill up on the grass, which was
as
high as their backs in some places, and at one o'clock we packed up and
pulled out, intending to go as far as Big Elk Prairie. There were no
trails so we struck out through the timber, and after traveling three
or
four hours we came to a stream that flows out of Black Butte and makes
one prong of Little Butte Creek. Here was grass two or three feet high
and a huge spreading maple to camp under by the side of one of the
prettiest streams I ever saw. It seemed too good to pass by so we
simply unpacked, turned the horses loose and after resting awhile got
out our lines and soon had a nice mess of mountain trout. This same
stream can now be reached from Ashland in a couple of hours, as there
is an automobile road right through the country.
Forgot To Take Gun
After
supper we concluded to take a walk out toward Big Elk Prairie, which we
knew could not be far. Right here I want to make a confession. I did a
trick that doesn't or didn't happen often to any man being used to the
mountains. No doubt the reader will smile, but I went out on this walk
without my gun. Now don't kid me about this too much when you meet me
on the street after you have read this story, for I am just a little
sensitive about it yet. One excuse I had was that I didn't want the
dogs to go, and if I left the gun in camp they would not want to
follow. This may be a poor excuse but is the best I had.
However, Bob did take his gun and I sauntered along, not thinking for a moment that we would see any game that would be worth shooting at. In this I was mistaken, as you will see, for we soon came to the edge of Big Elk Prairie and there not over a hundred and twenty-five yards away were two big gray wolves feeding on a deer that they had probably killed. One Dropped by Bob
Imagine
my feelings as I was compelled to stand there looking on while Bob
pulled up his Winchester and, taking careful aim at one of them, pulled
away. At the crack of the gun the wolf leaped high in the air, turned
round and round then rolled over. The other one sprang off a few yards
and stopped to look and listen. The lever went down and up and another
bullet sped from the 44 and caught him in the thigh. Away he went, now
on three legs, toward the timber, and away went Bob, stopping to shoot
about every twenty yards. How it would have ended it is hard to tell
but just then I heard the dogs coming. I succeeded in stopping Trailer,
but Ranger passed me like a cyclone and saw the wolf. I could just see
a black streak going across that prairie.
It was plain to be seen that Ranger would overtake him before he could get to the timber. Bob kept on going but did not shoot any more after Ranger passed him. The race was soon over and when the wolf saw he was being overtaken, he stopped and swung around to face the enemy. Ranger, without making a sound, dashed right at him and ran round and round and every chance he got would grab for a ham. He was too foxy to close in on him by himself. But, if I had let Trailer go, there would have been a mighty lively fight. I thought he was too valuable to take any chance on letting a wolf cut him up. Bob soon got there and the Winchester cracked again and I saw Ranger grab him by the ham and commence to yank him around. Felt Well Sold Out
I
let Trailer go now, but the fight was over. I know he was extremely
disappointed, but I couldn't help it. Bob wanted to take the hides off,
so after doing this, Bob said I could take the gun now and he would
carry the pelts. Very nice of him, wasn't it? I was very much chagrined
and kept thinking it would be about fifty degrees below zero if I ever
did a trick like that again.
Clouds Swept Away
In
returning we kept up nearer the foot of the hill and just as we got
well into the timber, out jumped a big five-point buck and away he went
out through the open timber. I was a fairly good shot on the run in
those days, so I quickly caught a bead and sent a bullet after him that
caught him in the bulge of the ribs and ranging forward passed through
the heart. He ran a few yards and fell. Say believe me, all my troubles
had vanished instantly and I felt as happy as a big sunflower.
Two wolves and a buck was pretty good luck to start in with, and we with several miles yet to go to our permanent camp. Camp Near Mt. Pitt
The
next morning we packed up and went out across Big Elk Prairie, crossed
Butte Creek and on up past Fish Lake and on up the trail toward Lake o'
the Woods a few miles and then turned to the left and kept around the
side of old Mt. Pitt and landed high up on a creek that flows into the
Lake o' the Woods where we found a beautiful place to camp. Running
water, lots of grass and lots of huckleberries. The balance of the day
we spent in fixing up camp, skinning our big buck, making a rack to
jerk the meat on and were ready to start out the next morning for a
real hunt.
We were in a wild country now and had big expectations, as the game was seldom bothered and we had such a good start we were confident we would do well. So we were up bright and early the next morning and started out. I took the dogs and went straight up the creek, and Bob crossed over and was supposed to follow around the side of Mt. Pitt, lower down so that if Trailer started a bear he would stand a better chance to hear him. Dogs Start Bear
Bob
cautioned me before we started to be sure and take my gun along. Sort
of rubbing it in, don't you think? I had only gone about half a mile
when I saw where a bear had been browsing around in a huckleberry
patch. The dogs were a short distance back so I gave the horn a few
short toots and it brought them in a hurry. The track was fresh and
they were soon off and going up the hill and soon on the other side
where I knew Bob would be. I hurried on up and when I got to the top,
which wasn't far, I heard them away down toward the Fish Lake trail.
They had overtaken him and were fighting him on the ground.
I would like to give you the details of this fight, but space will not permit; suffice it to say that we followed up and got him. He was an old mealy-nosed brown bear. I have given you the details of these bear fights so often that I know you must all be familiar with them by now, so I will tell you about the elk we got, which I am sure will be more interesting to you. We laid off the next day and kept the fire going under the meat rack, but the next morning we started out again and went west around the side of old Mt. Pitt. When we were about two miles from camp and as we were passing through a big burn I saw, lying down by a big log and about 125 yards from us, a big buck. He saw us and turned his head toward us. I pulled up and shot and he rolled over. We started down to where he lay and Bob asked me where I had hit him. I thought I had given him a quartering shot, so I said, "probably through the heart." Shot Squarely Between Eyes
Imagine
my chagrin when we got down to where he lay to find that I had hit him
squarely between the eyes. Bob liked his joke so he never let up on me
the whole trip, and the first time we went in to Ashland, he took
especial pains to tell it. It probably was a good poke, for I prided
myself on being a good shot. The buck had nine points on one horn and
ten on the other.
Find Traces of Elk
After
dressing him and hanging him up we went on and in about another mile we
came to a clearing of perhaps three or four acres in [omission] it was
discovered there had been a bunch of elk there. I immediately became
excited, for if there was one thing I liked to hunt in those days it
was elk. We set to work to figure out where they had left the clearing
and what direction they had taken. Around and around we went for quite
awhile and finally found the point where they had left the glade on the
west side and were traveling up and around the side of Mt. Pitt. We
followed for a long way and at last came to where they had been
standing under some fir trees and out in a little opening had been
lying down. On we went as they were easily followed now, going most of
the time in single file, and finally came to a grassy spot, away up on
the south side of Mt. Pitt, facing Fish Lake, and there they had great
holes pawed out and had been lying down. We soon discovered that they
had gone out the upper end of the clearing, but this time they had
swung back east around the side of the mountain.
Find Elk Near Lake
We
followed along until about three o'clock when the trail took a turn up
toward a gap in the ridge that runs down east from Mt. Pitt. We went on
up and through the gap and, on going down a short distance, discovered
them at a small round lake. One big buck elk was standing out in the
middle, up to his knees in the water. Near the edge were two more lying
down; a few yards away stood a cow and calf. This was sure a sight that
made my heart leap for joy.
It was a long shot for a 44, but a big mark to shoot at. We pulled up without ever saying a word to each other and fired at the big buck. He threw up his head, staggered and started to wade out. Bang, bang! went the Winchesters, and again as he got near the edge. Now we saw that he was going to fall, and stopped shooting. At the first shots the others sprang up and were gone and our task now was to dress him, which was no small job as he was as big as a good-sized ox and had immense horns. I kept these horns quite awhile and finally let Harry Poole of Klamath Falls have them. He was running a picture show there and he probably has them yet. It was getting pretty late by the time we got the elk dressed, so we hiked for camp. Passing through the gap we turned east and followed the ridge for some distance, then turned down the hill and took a straight shot for camp. We were tired and hungry, having had nothing to eat since morning, but had fed the dogs on liver when we dressed the buck. About halfway to camp, the dogs struck a bear track and away they went around the side of old Mt. Pitt, making the woods ring with their noise. We stood and listened, hoping they would soon tree him, but we were doomed to disappointment for they kept getting farther and farther away and finally went out of hearing. We knew then that the jig was up so went on to camp, arriving a little after dark. We did not hesitate about what to do, but fell to and soon had supper ready and the buck meat disappeared very rapidly. We were up against it, but ate first and talked the matter over afterward. Both dogs out after a bear, and an elk and a big buck to bring in. We finally decided that one of us would have to go and hunt for the dogs and the other go after the elk and buck. Bob said that he would go and hunt the dogs, explaining that as I was used to butchering and knew just how to skin and quarter it up, that I was the logical man for that job and that it would take him forever to do it. So I yielded like a good butcher, though I had a suspicion that Bob was pretty anxious to go after the dogs, for it was almost sure that he would get a bear. This story is rather long, so if you want to hear the balance just say so and I will "come again." John Gives Final Chapter
of Story on Bear Fight Well, here we are again. I have described so many bear fights that I thought that perhaps the readers were getting tired of them, but it seems like every time I go downtown I meet so many people who want to get the balance of this story that I suppose I will just have to give you Bob's description of the rest of this one. The next morning Bob saddled up his horse and lit out. Don't Let Trailer Get Hurt!
"Don't let Trailer get hurt at any cost," I cautioned.
With his promise that he would be careful, he was gone. I took the pack horses and went up to where the elk lay and after considerable work, with few tools to work with, I got him cut up and in shape to pack. It was getting late by the time I got into camp and found Bob already there. He had a big black bear all right and I was mighty glad to see old Trailer was also safe and sound, for I was always uneasy when he was away overnight with a bear treed. Climbs High on Mt. Pitt
After supper Bob told me all about it. He had gone down the Fish Lake
trail and followed it for several miles and then turned to the right
and kept around the side of old Mt. Pitt, getting higher up until he
finally came to a deep canyon. Here he stopped and listened for quite
awhile and, hearing nothing, concluded to cross the canyon and get on
top of the ridge on the other side. He had a difficult time getting
across that canyon, but after reaching the other side he found better
going and then soon reached the top of the ridge.
Stopping to listen, to his great delight he heard old Trailer's long deep cry, "bow-wow-wo-ow." And not over half a mile away down below him, so he led his horse along until he got within perhaps three hundred yards of the tree, then tied his horse and proceeded afoot. Bob Makes Big Mistake
Now
right here is where Bob made a mistake. In his haste to get to the
tree, he made too much noise. The bear came down and the fight was on.
A battle royal it was, with a big black bear pitted against two of the
best bear dogs that ever looked up a tree. Bob ran as fast as he could
to get there, and when he got in sight here is what he saw.
Both dogs were working systematically and making it hot for Mr. Bear. Trailer would catch him by the ham, and as he swung around to strike Trailer would let go and get away and Ranger would grab him from the other side. They did not know that Bob was there until his gun cracked, and then Bob said it was wonderful to see them handle him without either dog getting hurt. They just actually kept him going so fast back and forth that Bob couldn't get in a dead shot. He kept following up, however, and at last got a bullet through his heart and the fight was over. It was impossible to describe this fight, Bob said; it had to be seen to be appreciated. The dramatic part of this fight appeared when Bob came to examine his gun. It was empty--his last shot had been fired, and when we skinned that bear he had fourteen bullet holes through his hide. I feel that it is not necessary to describe the trip home. It was without incident, but in my next story I will promise to tell you about the scrap Bob and I got into with the Sugar-Leaf Bear near the Cove Ranch and how we got whipped to a fare-you-well. It will show you what a genuine dog is. I shall spare neither Bob nor myself, but give you a true story of the actual happenings. Medford News, September 6, 1935, page 1 Fuson Remembers Unhappy Meeting
with Griffin Dogs "These bear stories John Griffin has been writing for your paper make me think of the time those two dogs of his, Trailer and Ranger, first came to Ashland," T. J. Fuson, local insurance man, said yesterday. "How it was they didn't get shot is more than I can tell." Fuson, at that time, about 30 years ago, was working in the Postal Telegraph relay office in Ashland, and the manager of the office, W. H. Mowat, kept the two dogs for Griffin when they weren't out hunting. Dogs Came from Eureka
The
dogs, according to Fuson, were bought by Griffin from the sheriff who
lived at Eureka, California, and had been man hunters before going into
the bear hunting business.
"Every time they'd get loose from Mowat's house," Fuson said, "they'd come down to the office. The first time they came they got me cornered in a back room and held me there for 45 minutes. Every time I'd move they'd lunge at me. If I'd had a gun I'd killed them both. Every wire in the place was signaling for me to answer, and here I was cornered by these two dogs. Every time I'd move they'd step closer, show their teeth and snarl. When Mowat came I sure told him a thing or two. He kept the dogs out of the office after that. Got Stephenson Cornered
"Then
one day they got George Stephenson cornered in his own yard. He was
clipping the hedge, and they got him in a corner and held him there for
an hour.
"There's no doubt about them being real bear dogs," Fuson said, "and when I read those bear stories of Griffin's in The News I always think of when the dogs had me cornered." Medford News, August 16, 1935, page 1 Fine Bear Dog Sacrifices Self To Save Ike Skeeters By John B. Griffin
This is not the story that I promised about the Sugarloaf Bear nor
even one of my own experiences, but, as I believe it is well worth
telling and as I can vouch for its truthfulness, I give it to you as I
know it to be.
Ike Skeeters Early Settler
Isaac Skeeters was one of the earliest settlers in the Rogue River
Valley, and one of the party that discovered Crater Lake. He settled in
the Butte Creek country and raised his family there consisting of five
children, two sons and three daughters, all of whom are still alive,
the two boys still living in Jackson County.
Had Old Muzzleloader
Ike Skeeters was a great hunter and considered one of the best shots in
the country at that time. With his muzzle-loading gun he wasn't afraid
to tackle any kind of animal that roamed the woods in those days, and
if you will believe me, there were plenty of men who could testify to
the fierceness of the old grizzlies that were here then, and Ike
Skeeters came near being one that was unable to give his testimony as
you will see when you read this story. It was told to me by his son,
who
lives near the town of Talent at the present time.
Trades Oxen for Dog
One of Ike's neighbors had a dog that gave great promise of becoming a
good bear and hunting dog, and Ike traded him a yoke of oxen and a
wagon even up for the dog. That was an enormous price to pay for a dog
in those days, and Ike's neighbors gave him the horse laugh for being
such a chump. But Ike took it in good nature, and it wasn't long until
he had the laugh on them. The dog turned out to be a fine hunting dog,
and Ike thought the world of him.
Big Bear at Antelope
One of his neighbors, Jim Mattney, met Ike one day and told him that up
on Antelope Creek he had run across a big bear track and followed into
a thick patch of brush. He told Ike about where it was, so the next day
Ike took his muzzleloader and the dog and went up to where Mattney had
told him to go and, sure enough, the dog struck the track and followed
it to the patch of brush where Mr. Bear was lying in his bed. The bear
refused to move, so the dog commenced to bay. The bear refused to come
out, and after waiting awhile he concluded to crawl in and see if he
could get a shot. A small trail led in to where the bear had his bed,
and there was no other way in or out.
It was pretty dark in there, even though it was daylight outside, and Ike crawled up to within twenty feet of the bear before he could see him. Suddenly there he was, the dog barking and jumping [to] first one side and then other, keeping the old bear boxing to keep him off. Ike drew up his gun and aimed to shoot him squarely between the eyes, but the bear turned his head just as Ike pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit him by the side of the eye, ranged around the skull and lodged in the back of the neck. How did we know this? Well, read the balance of the story and you will find out. Wounded Bear Charges
This was a new enemy to deal with, and the bear came straight for him.
In his hurry to escape, Ike fell squarely across the trail. There he
was, on his back, no load in his gun and a wounded bear not more than
ten feet away, but both reckoned without the dog.
The dog, sensing the situation, jumped and caught the bear by the nose, which, as many of you know, is a tender spot with a bear, and both bear and dog went right over Ike and on out of the brush. Ike crawled out as soon as he could, but when he came out to the open around the bear was gone, and he found the lifeless form of the faithful dog that had saved his life. Sat Down and Cried
What did Ike do? Well, I'll tell you. He did just what I would have
done if the same thing had happened to Trailer. He sat right down there
and cried over the body of that dog just the same as he would have done
if it had been a fellow man.
About a month after this happened Ike and J. O. Skeeters hitched the horses to a wagon and started to go to Matt Hurst's, who lived on Antelope Creek. When they got about halfway they saw Jim Mattney riding around a patch of chaparral and every few minutes stop and shoot. He soon got off his horse, and when they drove up he said, "Ike, I killed a bear." Find Same Bullet
They found it to be a large grizzly and started to work skinning it.
When they got to the neck they found Ike Skeeter's bullet embedded
there. There was no mistaking either the bullet or the bear. It was the
same bear that Ike had wounded and that had killed his dog. Ike saved
the bullet, loaded his gun with it, and in a few days went out and got
a big fat buck with the very same bullet.
This, my friends, I can vouch for as being as true as any story I have even written. Next time I hope to have the story ready for you about the scrap Bob and I had with the Sugarloaf Bear. Old Trailer Comes Through
When Other Dogs Fall Down By JOHN B. GRIFFIN This is not yet the story that I promised you about the Sugarloaf Bear, but it is one that kept coming up persistently in my mind, so I pass it on to you. A man named Harvey, who was a great fellow for hobbies, used to live about a couple of miles above Phoenix. He was a great lover of horses and was a good horse trainer. Also Liked Dogs
He was also fond of dogs and one time conceived the idea that he wanted
some bear dogs--not just the ordinary dog that might be trained into a
good bear dog, but something fine and pure bred. He was also fixed
financially so that he could humor his fancy, so he sent away and got a
pair of full-blood speckled Russian bloodhounds. He already owned a
couple of ordinary dogs and with the arrival of the two full-blood
Russians, he was all worked up and ready for bear.
Dogs Also Run Deer
Just show him a bear track and, of course, the dogs would do the rest.
On some of his short trips that he took with them he found out that
they were bad to run deer and he had to couple them together until he
came across a fresh bear track, which made it rather an "uphill
business," so to speak. However, he got word that over on Antelope
Creek there were a lot of acorns that the bear were in the habit of
feeding on, so he struck out with his four dogs, his son Jim and
another fellow.
Find Hot Bear Track
Arriving there it was not long until sure enough the dogs picked up a
trail and started after a bear. After a long and hard chase they
finally put him up a tree. As all three men were on horseback they soon
came up to where the dogs had the bear treed and, tying their horses,
went up near the tree.
Harvey had given them to understand that he was going to shoot that bear, so he fussed around, set his gun down, pulled off his coat and hat and walked a few steps to a small tree and hung them up and started back to pick up his gun. About this time the bear made up his mind that it was time to come down, which he did so quickly that they didn't know how it was done. He knocked the dogs right and left and away he went pell-mell down the hill with the dogs yelping at his heels and leaving Harvey standing there holding the sack, as the saying goes. It was goodbye Mr. Bear, for the dogs could neither tree him or stop him anymore, and after awhile they quit and came back, and Mr. Harvey had to go home a very disappointed man. Anderson Creek Bear Bad
Not
long after this he got another chance to try his dogs out and much
nearer home. A big old bear was ranging around up on the divide between
Anderson Creek and Coleman Creek where there was plenty of acorns and
manzanita berries. But like most other animals, as well as man, he
liked a change of diet once in awhile and got to coming down into a
man's orchard for apples. I have for the time being forgotten the man's
name, but, at any rate, when he got up one morning and found that the
bear had been committing some unusual depredations he got on a horse
and started down to see me to get me to take Trailer and rid him of
this pest. As he passed Harvey's place on the way, he told Harvey about
the bear and that he was going after Griffin and Trailer to be sure and
get him. Harvey saw another chance to try out his dogs and persuaded
him to let him take his four dogs and go after the bear. This was
agreed and the four dogs, Mr. Harvey and his son Jim were soon on the
trail.
Soon Routed Him Out
The
scent was still strong and, of course, it didn't take the dogs long to
start him up and get him going, but they couldn't make him climb and
after four or five hours they gave it up and came back.
Felt Duty to Show Trailer
Harvey
was whipped again and rather discouraged and, learning of this, I felt
that it was my duty to show him what a real bear dog could do, so I
waited just four days to give bruin a chance to recuperate, and then
one nice morning I took my two dogs and struck out without letting
anyone know where I was going. I followed the ridge between Coleman
Creek and Anderson Creek for several miles and scoured the country
around the head of these two creeks without finding any sign of the old
"apple-eater." I then started on my way back following along the
Anderson Creek side and came to a thick manzanita patch. As this was a
likely place to find him, and about the only place for miles around
that I hadn't investigated, I sent the dogs in and in a short time I
heard them turn loose their baying. They had routed him out of his bed
and away they went down the hill and across Anderson Creek, up the hill
on the other side, down again and across the creek, bringing him up to
within seventy-five yards of me, and made him climb.
I went around so I could come in on the upper side and kept out of sight behind some trees until I got close enough to fill him with bullets if he undertook to come down. Then I stepped out and walked right up under the tree, which was a large fir and there he was stretched out full length on two large limbs looking down at the dogs. When he saw me he raised up a little on his front paws and gave a short snort, looking straight toward me. Right there was my cue to shoot, and I put a bullet squarely between his eyes and he rolled out and dropped to the ground. Both dogs piled onto him and all rolled and slid down the hill for several feet before bringing up against a large bush. He was dead, of course. There are people living here in Medford, and Phoenix too, who saw that bear, and if you need any proof of my statement that he was really a big one you may ask them. It was too late by this time to come home, so I went down to where an old friend of mine lived by the name of Davidson, stayed overnight with him and hiked out the next morning for Phoenix. I got John Wright to take his two-horse wagon and go with me after him. A wood road led up close to where he lay, so we got the wagon as close as we could and let the two hind wheels down with the spindles placed so we could raise them up. We then fastened one end of a double block to the front end of the wagon and proceeded to pull him, and I want to tell you that there was room for little of anything else in that wagon. When we got home we hitched the blocks to the limb of an oak and pulled him up then drove out from under him and let him hang all the next day so that everyone who wished could see him. In the evening who should come along but Bill Hanley, who is the "Sage of Harney County" and who died Sunday while attending the Round-Up at Pendleton. He had a friend in Portland in the butcher business that he had considerable dealings with, so he told me that he would like to ship that bear to him for a Christmas gift. He gave me a check for $20, so I let him have the bear. And now, readers, this shows what a genuine bear dog Trailer was and why I maintain that some dogs are bear dogs and some are not. Medford News, September
18, 1935 page 1
Wise Old Bear Gets Best of Tilt,
Says J. B. Griffin By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
This is the story that I have been promising you for some time. The
story that tells of how we lost out through a combination of
circumstances and the sagacity of a wise old bear.
Going over the Dead Indian Road, when you get pretty well toward the summit near the old Mike Michaelson Ranch, if you look over to the south you will see a large round mountain, or rather a round-topped mountain. This is called Sugarloaf Mountain, and anyone who has the least idea that it is not steep, rough and brushy should go up there sometime and get after a bear like Bob Neil and I did and get firsthand information about it. The Cove Ranch is just over the south of that mountain, and here is where Bob Neil lived when the happenings took place which are related in this story. An old brown bear used to make her headquarters on Sugarloaf, and we always called her the Sugarloaf Bear. She was cunning, avoided all traps set for her and [was] too wary to be caught by the average hunter. She was too smart to climb, and the brush gave her a big advantage over the dogs. I got a fair chance at her once and lost, so will proceed to tell you how it happened. There were lots of acorns that fall, and within a mile or so of the Michaelson Ranch we saw where there had been an old bear and a cub eating acorns along the road. Trailer took the track immediately and went down across Cove Creek and up the other side and across the next gulch and began to bay. I snatched the gun out of the wagon, followed up and found he had her on the south side of the gulch where the oak brush was thick but no trees. On my side it was open and grassy. I could tell that she had not moved out of her bed yet, and I might have had a chance to see her had it not been for a belt of fog that followed right along up the gulch. I knew it was no use to go over there so I waited, and after awhile Trailer got her started, but she stayed with the brush side. I kept along up the open side for perhaps three or four hundred yards, and all at once, after making a grand rush at Trailer, out she popped, crossed the gulch and came out into open ground right in front of me and not over sixty yards away. I don't know which was the most surprised, the bear or yours truly. She stopped and looked right down the hill at me. The cub, a big fellow, was coming right behind her, and as I dropped the gun down on her I saw that by waiting a second or two that he would be right alongside of her. So I waited, intending to get them both with one shot. Just as he came up I pulled the trigger, and you can imagine my chagrin and disappointment when the gun snapped on an empty chamber. Quick as a flash I threw the lever down and up and tried again. Snap it went again and I knew my gun was empty--I had been shooting at some red-headed woodpeckers on a return trip from the Applegate a few days prior and had neglected to reload my gun. There was nothing to do now but go back to the wagon while the bear went on up the mountain and soon reached the brush again. I made a vow to try again sometime, but it was late in the fall now and I didn't get over that way again until spring. On the trip over in the spring, I got within about a mile of Bob Neil's and turned to the right and crossed the canyon or creek that runs down by the Michaelson Ranch. On the opposite side was a thick patch of brush two or three hundred yards wide and Trailer soon struck the track, had her going and in a few minutes had caught up with her. I could hear him after her lively. I undertook to get in close enough to sight her. She discovered me and made a dash to get away, but Trailer soon had her stopped again. In making my way through the brush to get nearer, I got a severe blow in the eye with a limb. I could do nothing for a while and it hurt, so I had to go where there was some water and bathe it before I could see at all, and even then there was a blur that impaired the sight. I went down to Bob Neil's and got him to come with me. We could still hear Trailer in there. She was still standing him off, the brush being so thick that he was unable to get around to work on her any. We undertook to crawl in close enough to see her and succeeded in getting within less than twenty steps before she moved, then away she went crashing through the brush, and we followed. In less than a hundred yards Trailer had stopped her again. We tried again with the same result. Around and around we followed her with the hope that she would get out where the brush was thinner and we could get to see her. We separated, Bob going around ahead and waiting, but she would manage to miss him every time. Hour after hour we kept this up, sometimes being close enough to hear her panting, but still we couldn't get a chance to see her. Once Trailer stopped her in a particularly brushy place and I undertook to get close enough to see her. I took plenty of time and was careful to step only when Trailer was barking so that she could not hear me. Slowly and cautiously I made my way along. I would step on a big bush and when it bore down with my weight I would ease the other foot up to keep from making any noise, then do the same with the other foot. I was gradually gaining, and my hopes were running high. Trailer was barking steadily as though he knew just what I was trying to do, and the bear wasn't making a move. The brush was so thick he couldn't get in behind her, and all he could do was to stand in front and bay. She was getting tired and, being fairly fat, was bound to be hot. Step by step, foot by foot, inch by inch I was getting nearer. My gun was ready and I needed only a glimpse. I must have been within fifteen or twenty feet of her but for the life of me could not see her. I must get closer. I looked ahead and selected a bush for my next step. I eased my foot up and took one more step and as it bent down under my weight, crack went a dry stick under it and crash went the brush and she was gone. Time and again we would get almost close enough to see her but she would make her escape every time. Trailer stayed with her, although he had little chance to do anything except to bark at her. It was getting along about four o'clock now, and we had been after her for hours and hours without a bite to eat and were getting mighty tired and hungry. We had not been half a mile from where we began and had been unable to get her out of this same brush patch. Bob moved again, and this time picked a favorable spot and caught sight of her. Quickly the gun came to his shoulder and, taking careful aim when she was within forty yards, he fired. It was a clean clear miss, and before he could reload she had whirled and was in the brush again. I went to him when I heard the shot and was terribly disappointed to learn that he had missed her. Bob was at a loss to understand why he had missed her too, but when he examined his gun he found that the sight was raised to the top notch and he must have missed her by about fifteen feet. Finally Trailer got her out of the brush, and this time she started toward the creek. He went after her lively now, as he had her in the clear. I made a run and cross-cut and got a sight of her just as she was crossing the head of the gulch. She saw me and made a dash to get to the brush, as the ground was open there. I was within forty yards of her. Trailer froze onto her hindquarters, but she didn't take time to turn around to knock him off, she just dragged him with her. I brought my gun up and had four shots before she got to the brush and missed her every time. This was enough. I was ready to give it up and so was Bob. Trailer, however, was still on the job and stayed with her and after circling around two or three times more through the same old brush patch she made a break going pell-mell down into the canyon and up to the other side toward the summit of the Dead Indian Mountain and out of hearing. Bob and I went home, beat to a frazzle. I stayed all night with Bob. Trailer got in about two o'clock, and we often thought what a lonesome night he must have put in with that old Sugarloaf Bear all alone and waiting for us to come. As I write this, it still gives me a touch of the same old heartache. My miss might have been due to the tired condition of my body, making muscle action somewhat uncertain, or to the injury of my eye, which still hurt and was still not clear. However so far as we were concerned the Sugarloaf Bear bore a charmed life. Medford News, November 6, 1935, page 3 Big Brown Bear Duck Soup for Old
Trailer,
in This Narrative of Early Days By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
Soon after Temp and I got back from our hunt at Fish Lake,we were
informed that a big brown bear had been on a rampage in a neighborhood
several miles away and had been killing sheep and hogs galore. Several
people had taken after him with various and sundry kinds of dogs, some
of which were supposed to be good bear dogs too, but all attempts had
thus far failed and they wanted me to bring Trailer and give him a
trial.
Trailer's fame as a real bear dog was already spreading throughout this part of the state, and as Temp was wild to go, I said we would go over and give the brown bear a trial and see what we could do with him. Bad Bear Reported
Medford News, December
13, 1935, page 1
We
rigged up and set out, and upon arriving at a point near the place
where the bear was reported to have been seen we arranged to stop with
a man by the name of Nichols who gave us all the information he could
and offered to go with us.
"I'll tell you, Griffin," he said, "I don't believe your dogs can handle him. Some of the best dogs in the country have been after him, and he has whipped them all." "That's all right," said I, giving Temp a knowing look, "You see, Trailer and Ranger have never been after him yet." Reputation Is Good One
"Well," he
replied, "I know that they have the reputation of being the best bear
dogs in the state, but when they start 'Old Brownie' they will be up
against a hard proposition."
"That's the kind they like," I reply, "and if they get Old Brownie started and fail to stop him, then I'll be willing to give it up, but not before." Temp was listening, but he made no comment, just looked at me with a knowing smile. Country Hilly and Rolling
The
country was hilly, sort of rolling, with deep gulches leading away from
a main ridge or divide, usually with thick brush on one side and rather
open on the other of each canyon or gulch. By keeping around the head
of these gulches on the top of the ridges a person could ride a horse,
as it was practically all open. When we got ready to go I had Temp
saddle his horse and told him to get on top of the ridge and ride along
slow so that when he heard the dogs and could determine which one of
the gulches they were coming up he could get there and in position as
quickly as possible to turn him back or kill him if he came out in the
open in an attempt to cross the ridge.
Brushy Gulch in Place
Off
he went while Nichols and I started out to cross-cut the gulches.
Nichols said it was about a mile to the brushy gulch where they usually
started him. As he had not been bothered lately it would be an easy
matter to get him up, he thought. I cautioned Nichols to be careful
about shooting when the dogs were fighting him. When we got over on top
of the big ridge looking over on the big gulch, I sent the dogs down
and we stayed on the top. They were gone for quite awhile before we
heard a sound out of them, then finally I heard Trailer give a long
bow-wow. He had found the track but it was cold, so we waited and
listened, and after awhile we saw the dogs come out in an open place on
the opposite side, and they were working like beavers and only
opening up once in awhile. We watched closely and pretty soon they went
over the hill and down into the next gulch.
Find Bruin's Tracks
We
struck out now pretty lively down into the gulch and up the other side
to where we had seen them working, and there was his track as plain as
day. It was a big one; it was so large that I measured it. It measured
seven inches wide and ten inches long.
"Say, Nichols," I said, "are you sure this is a brown bear?" "Sure I am," he replied, "I have seen it several times." "Well, that's the biggest brown bear track that I ever saw." We were moving right along while we were talking, and soon got to the top of the ridge where the dogs had gone over and we heard them the first thing. They had him going, and were making it hot for him. We could tell that easy enough, for he was working up the canyon and making slow headway. We kept along the ridge, and in a few minutes Old Brownie came up in sight on the opposite side into open ground. He was brown all right, and his size was in keeping with the track that I had measured. Right here is where Nichols saw where two of the right kind of dogs could handle a bear. First Trailer and then Ranger would grab him by the ham and they kept him so busy that he couldn't travel uphill at all, and they were in such a continual mixup that we dare not shoot. Nichols Astounded
"I
never saw anything like that before," said Nichols. "If they keep that
up we will get him sure."
"Well, don't you think for a minute that we will not get him," I replied, "for they will never quit. When they get hold of a bear they stay until the fight is finished." Pretty soon I saw Temp coming down the open ridge beyond the bear and coming on a dead run. He had tied his horse and was afoot. Things were getting extremely exciting now, as the fight was raging like a brushfire in August. Temp being above had the advantage and kept getting closer but could not shoot on account of the dogs. Suddenly Old Brownie made a dash for the brush and got down toward the gulch, and as good luck would have it he commenced working up along toward the head of the gulch. I called across to Temp to keep on going along the ridge and be ready to head him off when he reached the open ground. I sent Nichols up on the side that we were on and told him to get there as quickly as he could, then I went right down and followed along the side hill above them thinking that I might get a sight of him if it wasn't too brushy. He was making pretty good time now on account of the brush giving him some protection from the dogs, and I didn't get to see him. Finally he got to the open ground, and just as he dashed out of the brush with both dogs at his heels "Bang!" went Temp's gun and "Bang!" went Nichols' gun. They had both gotten there ahead of him and were ready. Both hit him, and he wheeled around and dashed back into the brush and came tearing down toward me. I had reached a place where there was some open ground and timber, and when I heard them coming I took up a position beside a big fir tree, and in just a few minutes I saw him coming. When he struck the open ground both dogs caught up with him, and each springing up had caught a ham and hung on until dragged several feet. Now was my time. I caught a bead and gave him a quartering shot. Over he went, but he came right up and started straight toward me. Both dogs had let go, but as he got up they caught him again and as he swung around to knock them off they let go again and jumped back to escape his paws. Right then I began to pour the lead into him. One, two, three, four, five, just as fast as I could work the lever. Poor Old Brownie, he had to give up. He had put up a good fight, but he was no match for a couple of real bear dogs who always knew just what to do. As he wallowed around in his death struggle he chewed the brush savagely, but he was soon quiet and still and lay over dead. Nichols and Temp soon came up and let me tell you that there was a jubilant bunch there, including the dogs. Nichols made me shake hands with him and congratulated me on having the "two best bear dogs on earth." When Lead Was
Scarce,
John Says Marksmanship Was Better By JOHN B. GRIFFIN In my stories lately I have been telling the readers of the many bear fights where it took so many shots to make "Old Bruin" bite the dust that I fear you will begin to think that I was a mighty poor shot, so to change your minds in that respect, I am going to tell you of some short hunts lasting only one day and sometimes overnight, returning home the next day. Game Plentiful at Dead Indian
The first one that I will tell you about took place
when I was living in the Dead Indian country [in the late 1880s],
and I will say that I was about the only hunter in that country in
those days and of course game was much more plentiful than it is now.
This is especially true of bear and wolves.
On the occasion I speak of there was a young man staying with me by the name of Charley Hocket. He was with me on a number of hunts in that country. He was a good shot and a good companion, and sometimes we would be out for five or six days at a time, but on this occasion we were out but one night. I will leave it to the reader to decide for himself or herself just how good our luck was on this trip. I will tell you exactly what we killed, exactly how many shots it took to kill them and, as Ripley says, "believe it or not" it will be the exact truth. Headed for "Griffin's Camp"
Charley
and I started out right
after dinner, intending to go only about five miles to one of our
favorite camps, known then and still known as Griffin's Camp. It was in
the fall and the bears were ranging through there getting fattened up
on pine nuts preparatory for their long winter's nap. I know of nothing
that a bear likes better of the things he finds in his native haunts
than a good fill of pine nuts.Was Sugar Pine Country
In those
days the settlers above
Ashland would make trips into this section for sugar pine shakes with
which to roof their cabins, barns, etc., and there was quite a level
stretch of country there with trails and meager roads where they had
been cutting the sugar pine with which to make their shakes. We
followed one of these trails for two or three miles which made it much
easier going than without any trail at all. We had arrived at a point
about two miles from home when all at once Trailer dashed off through
the woods, and in less time than it takes to tell it he was barking
with his nose up a tree. We knew what that meant, for Trailer never
fooled us, so we tied our horses and went to him and, sure enough, he
had a large black bear up a good-sized fir tree.Urged Charley to Shoot
"You shoot
him, Charley," I suggested, wishing to give him a chance to get in a
little real practice."No, John," he replied. "I might make a bad shot which might lose us the bear as well as delay us on our journey." "All right," said I. "I am going to shoot him in the head so you be ready if I should happen to make a miscue. I cannot let him strike the ground alive." I waited a few minutes for him to turn his head so that I could get it in just the right position, and when he did, I let him have it square between the eyes. He rolled out of the tree just like he had been hit with a sledge hammer. Trailer had his turn now and proceeded to shake him good. We dressed him, hung him up as best we could, went back to our horses and proceeded on our way, as we wanted to reach camp in time to hunt some that evening. Trailer Starts Another One
We had not
proceeded more than a
half to three-quarters of a mile when away went Trailer again. There
seemed nothing left for us to do but tie our horses and follow. We soon
caught up with him and found him again with his nose up a tree and
barking furiously. When we got to where we could see, he had a big
brown bear up another large fir."He is not up very high, Charley," I said, "so you take your turn and shoot him and be sure you shoot him through the head." So Charley got alongside of a tree and taking a good rest shot the bear as square between the eyes as you could put your finger. "Well, Jerusalem, what kind of luck do you call this?" he asked. "Well," I replied, "it is a pretty good sign that we have two bears to start out with, and a sure sign that we can only hunt a little while this evening and a short time tomorrow morning, for we can't leave these fat bears out too long or they will spoil." With this, and stopping only long enough to partially dress the bear, we proceeded on to camp where we found three men from Ashland who were hunting in that section, and had chosen our camp site for their headquarters. They said that they had only been hunting one day, but thus far killed nothing. Nor had they even seen a deer. "In what direction have you been hunting?" I asked. "Out toward Johnson's Prairie," they replied, pointing eastward. Charley and I went out awhile that evening, but both came in empty-handed. Each Chose Own Direction
The next
morning they wanted to
know which direction we were going to hunt, so I told them that I was
going to hunt down the hill south of the camp and work around west
toward home. In this way, I figured that we would have our game nearer
home, and as we were somewhat pressed for time, this would be an
advantage.Charley and I hiked out, and when we got about three or four hundred yards from camp we separated. I turned off to the right and Charley to the left. I had not gone far until I discovered where a big buck had been browsing around under the manzanita brush where there were lots of berries. I tracked him for a time and came to a large fir tree that had fallen with one end still sticking pretty high up. The thought struck me that this would be a good point from which to throw some rocks over in the brush to see if I could scare Mr. Buck up, as I was pretty well satisfied that he was lying down not far away. I picked up three good-sized stones, climbed up on the tree and found that it gave me a good chance to see all around. Started Throwing Rocks
I threw
one of them off to the
right and waited. Nothing happened. I sent one off down to the left and
waited again. Still nothing happened. So I hurled the last one, a big
stone, straight out in front of me, and this time I got results.Out went a big buck tearing through the brush at a terrific rate. He had heard the other stones but regarded them as too far away to be considered dangerous, but this one got too close to him. I could see him as he began to leap, and my Winchester began to crack. Once, twice, three times. At the third shot he went down. I climbed down and went over to where he lay and found that he had seven points on each horn. I dressed him and started back toward where I thought I could find Charley. I had gone about three-quarters of a mile when I heard him shoot, just once, some three or four hundred yards away. I started to go on to him, but did not get very far when here came a big buck on a dead run and only about forty yards below me. I pulled up my gun, shot once and he went down. When I reached him, I found that I had hit him in the neck close to the shoulders. A Scratch Shot, Maybe
A scratch
shot, you say? Well,
have it that way if you want to; I got him just the same and he had
nine points on one side and eight points on the other. Leaving him to
lie there I went over to where Charley had been, gave my horn a toot,
and Charley answered at once. When I got to him he was dressing a big
four-point buck."By golly, Charley, that's fine," said I. "Yes," he replied, then added, "but there was another one with him even bigger than him and he got away before I could shoot." John Gave Consolation
"That's
all right, Charley," I
offered in way of consolation, "he didn't get away, we have him lying
out there in the brush a couple of hundred yards or so from here, and
in addition, we have a seven-pointer hanging up besides.""Well, I'll be darned, John Griffin, you always come out ahead of me." We proceeded back to camp where I made some coffee while Charley went after the horses, after which we loaded on the deer and hiked for home, arriving too late to return for the bear, but the next morning we hitched the horses to a wagon and found that we could drive right to them so we loaded them in and were back before noon. We spent the afternoon skinning the bear and getting the lard ready to render as they were fat. The hide of the black one was as black as coal with a big white spot on the breast. And now I will tell you just how many shots were fired. I fired five, killing two bucks and a bear and Charley fired two, killing one buck and a bear, and these my dear readers you may depend upon are absolute facts. Medford News, January
17, 1936, page 1 and January 22, 1936, page 4
Huge Elk Used To
Roam in Dead Indian
Says Griffin Who Always Got His Share By JOHN B. GRIFFIN Sometimes I think that perhaps the readers of the Medford News must be getting tired of my bear stories, for while each of them differ in some respects, there necessarily must be somewhat of a sameness about them. So, any time they do just let me know and I will stop short off. In the Dead Indian country, where I lived in those days [in the late 1880s], I had but two close neighbors, a family by the name of Blake, and Billy Addison, both of whom lived about two miles from me. One day Billy and I went over to Little Elk Prairie to look for a suitable sugar pine that would make good shakes. There was an old wagon road, built in an earlier day, and used for the same purpose as we were now putting it to, so as we drove along the upper end of Elk Prairie and we were going down on the south side next to the timber, we were startled by the appearance of three big elk that suddenly came from behind some willows that had hidden them from view, and dashed right across in front of us and into the timber before I could get my gun ready for a shot, and I was not too slow in getting into action in those days either. I knew that this was but a narrow belt of timber and that it was but a short distance to the other side and open ground again, so I made haste and ran after them, hoping to get a chance when they struck open ground again, but I was too late. When I reached the open ground they were already out of sight. Found Elk Sign Numerous
In looking
around we found lots of
elk sign at almost every point over the prairie, so I suggested to
Billy that we tie our horses and take a little scout around to see if
perhaps we might pick one up. This we did, and after hunting around for
quite awhile through the surrounding timber, we failed to get a sight
of even one elk. However, I did finally see a deer standing off about
80 yards, so I shot and it fell at the first shot. Upon arriving at the
place where it lay, we found that it was a four-point buck. After
selecting a good tree from which to get our shakes, and then loading
our deer, we left for home in a fairly good frame of mind.Decided to Return Soon
On the way
home we agreed to
return in a few days, as soon as the elk that we had disturbed had been
given sufficient time to get over their scare."I have to go to Ashland tomorrow," said Billy, "and don't you go before I get back for I sure want to go with you." "All right," said I, "I'll promise you that I will wait until you return, providing you are not gone longer than four days." So I waited. On the fourth day Billy returned, and in the meantime my old friend Temp had shown up and the next day we got an early start mounted on saddle horses, and with Trailer along were off to get as many elk as we could. Found Elk Had Returned
When we
got over near the prairie
we stopped, tied our horses and proceeded afoot. We soon discovered
that our elk had been back and we found not only their tracks but large
holes that they had pawed in many places. Temp struck out to go up to
the south end of the prairie and Billy and I went straight across to
the west side. We found where they had left the prairie and had gone up
on the side of a hill, so I put Trailer on the track and let him
slow-track them ahead of me, so that I would have more time to keep up
and a better chance to keep a sharp lookout for them. He followed along
the hillside for quite a distance, then all at once he stopped, raised
his head and tested the air down toward the prairie again.Tracks Lead to Open Ground
"Can it be
possible that they are
between us and the open?" I asked Billy, who was trailing along close
behind me. I told Trailer to go on and, sure enough, in about thirty
yards they had made a turn and had gone down toward the open ground. I
hurried along as fast as I could. It was not far and when I reached a
point where I could see out into the prairie, there were two elk coming
toward me approaching the timber. One I could see was an immense big
buck elk, walking alone with his large antlers laid along beside his
shoulders and coming along as unconcerned as if he were the only
"individual" within a thousand miles. Right behind him came a big cow.
Just as I pulled up to shoot, he stopped and from where I was I could
not see his front parts on account of a thick growth of jack pines. He
was a big fellow and I was anxious not to lose him, so, failing to get
a sight on a position to reach either his heart or lungs, I sent a
bullet right through his paunch. Away went the cow, heading up toward
where Temp was, but the buck dashed forward, not knowing where the shot
had come from. He swung in around the side hill and stopped behind a
big fir tree, too far and not in a position for me to get in a shot to
a vital spot. Shooting as near the tree as I dared, I sent another
bullet through him and away he went again.Right ahead of him was an opening some forty or fifty yards across. I ran as fast as I could for this and struck it just as he did and, if you will believe me, he was going at a terrific rate of speed. It was a trot, but a mighty fast one that covered distance rapidly. This time I had a clear chance with a quartering shot and, rapidly drawing a bead on his flank, I followed along a few yards and let him have it. Before I could shoot again he had toppled over. He rolled clear over and, as good luck would have it, he fell beside a log, rolled clear over on his back with one horn hooked on the other side of the log sort of holding him in position to do the next job necessary, which was to give him his preliminary dressing. This was the fortunate part as he was so big that two of us could do little with him. It was the same as dressing a four-year-old steer, but Billy and I fell to our task with a right good will and at last the job was done. Billy hadn't fired a shot. Said that he never had a chance, that it was all he could do to keep up with me and try to be as near the finish as possible. Temp Surprised at Kill
About this
time Temp came up,
having heard my shots, and was so surprised that he could hardly speak
when he saw what was lying there on the ground. After we had told him
that the cow had gone his way, he said that he heard her in the brush
not forty yards away, but could not see her. We all went up and took a
look at the track and, sure enough, it was the cow elk all right.With arrangements for Billy to bring his team and wagon the next morning to bring in the big elk, we now started for home. That evening two of my friends from the valley came in and stopped to stay overnight with me on their way to Klamath. They were on horseback, and when I told them about the big elk, they offered to go with us the next morning and help get him in. So the next morning the four of us saddled our horses and started out. Billy was ready and we proceeded to where the elk lay. Had to Let Wagon Down
We then
proceeded to get the wagon
in position and then removed the hind wheels leaving the end of each
spindle just inside the hub so that we could more easily raise them up
into position when we got the elk in the wagon. Then all turned to,
turned him around with his head toward the end of the wagon and with
one man ahold of the horns to pull and the other four doing some stiff
lifting, together with much grunting and groaning, we slid him in.
Maybe you think he didn't fill that wagon, if you do you have another
think coming. It took a pair of double blocks and all five of us to
pull him up to the end log of the cabin when we got him home. I have
seen a number of elk, killed a number myself and seen many others
especially here in the Coast Range, but without any doubt or
exaggeration I class this one as the largest I ever saw. It took me the
best part of two days to jerk and save the meat, but I saved it all.Sold Hide for $4.50
Now, I
suppose you will want to
know what I did with the hide and horns, so I'll tell you. I sold the
hide for $4.50 to a fur and hide dealer at Ashland. His name was
Hutchinson. I sold the horns to Mr. Paulson of Ashland who kept them
until he died, after which I got them back. I then sold them to a man
by the name of Wooley of Los Angeles. He gave me $100 spot cash for
them, and the last time I saw them he still had them and he told me
they were not for sale.Now as to the deer spoken of in the Ashland Tidings. I killed the deer in the same locality as the place I got the elk and to make a short story of it, I was hunting on horseback and had Trailer and Ranger with me. Ranger must have scented a deer, I suppose, for the first thing I knew he was gone and in a short time I heard him commence to bay. Gee whiz! I wondered. What was the matter now? He was barking savagely, so I knew that it must be some large animal, so I tied my horse and started to him keeping Trailer with me, until I got nearly halfway when I concluded to send Trailer for fear that it might give Ranger the slip and get away. I told Trailer to go and when he got there the racket started in real earnest. I ran as fast as I could, and when I came in sight I found that they had a big black-tailed buck and he was knocking them right and left. I got in a shot as quickly as I could and down he came. He was about the fattest deer that I ever killed. I brought some of it to Ashland and old hunters told me that they never saw anything like it. Now my friends, this is not a bear story, but it is a true story of a hunting trip made by me many years ago, and you may depend on the truth of every word. Medford News, March 11 and March 27, 1936, page 1 John Tells of Umpqua
Hunt
When Tom Ross Got the Deer By JOHN B. GRIFFIN One of the favorite hunting spots in the early days was the Umpqua Mountains in southern Oregon. All kinds of game abounded such as bear, elk and especially deer. A number of the settlers in the Rogue River Valley used to go up there in the fall of the year to lay in their winter supply of venison. and there are still quite a number of the residents of Central Point, Medford and other parts of the valley who plan to hunt in that region each fall for their limit of big game. The Ross boys of Central Point seldom fail to go there every fall and what is more to the point, they nearly always get their limit. Goes with Tom Ross
Tom Ross
and I went up there once
and while we only stayed two nights, we brought back seven deer. That,
of course, was some time ago when there was no limit placed on a
hunter's luck or ability to bring in all he could carry. It would not
have affected me any at that time, however, as I only killed two. Tom
killed the balance.This sort of went against the grain, so to speak, for I wasn't used to "dragging along behind" when I was out on a hunt, but I have to stick to the truth, especially as Tom still lives at Central Point and would be sure to see this if I told it any other way. However, I believe the readers all know by this time that they can depend on all that I have to say in these stories as the exact truth. Berry Crop Excellent
There were
all kinds of berries
along the Umpqua Divide, huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries and
strawberries. I have been up there when the raspberries were ripe and
there were acres and acres of them. There are worlds of huckleberries
in the fall season and some of the finest camping grounds on the
Pacific Coast. Splendid water, worlds of grass and plenty of game.Wolves Used To Be Numerous
There used
to be a band of wolves
range through that country and over in the Red Blanket country east of
the Rogue River, and I was invited more than once to join with other
hunters in trips for these wolves, and many a mixup we had but we
always managed to come out victorious.Paris Hamilton, who used to hunt through the Dead Indian country in the early days, when they were bolder than they are now, had quite a scrap with three of them. He heard them howling early one morning just at daylight near where he was camped so he got up and went out to try and get a shot at them and succeeded beyond his expectations. As soon as they saw him they didn't run away, but came straight for him howling furiously. Hunger, no doubt, made them bold, but they soon found out that they had made a great mistake, for Paris put a bullet in the leader that caused him to turn several somersaults and the other two, realizing that they had better use a little more caution, swerved around and started in the other direction, but not before Paris had another chance and the Winchester cracked again, and, as they used to say in the stories, "another one bit the dust." The third one escaped. Although Paris Hamilton is now dead, a brother living on the Applegate could corroborate this story although he is not the one who told it to me. Wolves Seldom Attack
It is the
only instance I have
ever heard of where a man was deliberately attacked by a band of wolves
in southern Oregon. In fact I can truthfully say that it is mighty
seldom that a traveler or hunter ever sees one in the woods, as they
are very smart and very wary and prefer to have all the advantage on
their side.I outwitted two of them once in the Dead Indian country. A man by the name of Hunt came in from Douglas County with a band of sheep and had not yet built a corral or shelter for protection for them, and one morning when he got up he found several dead sheep lying around partly eaten. I happened over there that day and I want to say that it was a heartbreaking sight. Two Wolf Tracks Found
We began
looking for tracks and
found where two big wolves had gone along the dusty road. These were
all the tracks we could find, and it was a mystery to us how just two
wolves could have caused so much damage and destruction. They had
killed sheep that they had not eaten at all, seemingly just for the fun
of killing.He had a tent set up near where the sheep bedded down at night to scare the coyotes away. I said to him, "It doesn't look very much like the wolves are afraid of your tent." "No, it doesn't, does it; they seem to be very wise." Griffin Has Scheme
"Well,"
said I, "I don't believe
they will come back tonight, for they are pretty well filled up just
now, so I have a scheme. You put some hay down in there and fix a bed.
I will go home and bring back a double-barreled shotgun that I have and
when I come back we will sort of lay for them.""All right," he replied. "I'll do it and I'll be ready when you come." "You take the rest of the sheep down to the Wells place so they will be out of the way and we will bring the dead sheep up under that big fir tree." Loads Up His Shotgun
I went
home and loaded up the
shotgun with buckshot. It was a muzzleloader and a good one, too; then
I went back over and Hunt and I lay in the tent all night, but not a
sign of a wolf did we see.I felt sure, and told Hunt, that they would come the next night. We arrived at the tent a little before dark the next night and got ourselves settled comfortably and waited. Along about nine o'clock the moon came up and I told Hunt that I thought we would not have to wait long, but ten o'clock came and no wolves. Hunt was getting impatient; he would pull the tent flap back a little and look out every few minutes. It was not long after ten when we heard them. It sounded like they were growling and snapping at each other. Wolves at Sheep Again
They were
at the sheep. One was
right up next to the tree and the other had pulled a sheep out a few
feet, putting them almost in a line with my view and only about twenty
or thirty yards away. We slipped our guns forward as noiselessly as
possible and let them have it with both barrels. Over went the big
fellow next to us with his feet in the air. The other one disappeared
so quickly we didn't know how it was done. We took a good look at the
one lying there, found him quite dead, then went to the house and to
bed.Find One Crippled
Early the
next morning we were up
and out to see how things sized up, and we found that we had wounded
the other one. We followed the track out and along the road for about
two hundred yards and there he had taken to the brush so we went back
to where the other one lay and Hunt wanted to skin it, so while he did
that I told him that I would go home and get Trailer and we would sure
get the other one.When I got back with Trailer Hunt was ready to go, and as soon as Trailer smelled the blood and got on the track I could hardly hold him back. I succeeded, however, until we got to the place where he had left the road, then I told Trailer to go, and he went and don't you forget it. It was not many minutes till we heard him commence to bay. It was not more than a hundred yards away and we were not long in getting there. We found the wolf backed up against a tree, and every few seconds he would lunge forward and try to get a snap at Trailer and his teeth would fairly pop. I pulled up and put a bullet in his head and his sheep-killing days were over, and that was the last time that Hunt's sheep were bothered with wolves. Medford News, April 17, 1936, page 1 Dead Indian Used to Be Hangout
for All Kinds of Game By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
Well, I had almost made up my mind to quit writing bear stories, but
every time I go downtown I meet so many people who tell me they are
always glad to read them, that I just come home and start to write
another one.
A few days ago I met a lady and she said to me, "How in the world can you write so many stories without getting them all mixed up?" "You must remember," I made reply, "that I went hunting many times and killed a great many bears, and every detail of my stories is absolutely true so I don't have to get them mixed. If I wrote the account of every bear that old Trailer caught it would make a pretty fair-sized book, so you see there is little danger that I am going to get them mixed." There have been certain ones, I know, who have said or intimated that they are untrue. To those people I will simply say that there are so many people in this valley that know they are true that these skeptics could get knocked off the perch very often and very rapidly if they would take the trouble to get a confirmation. However, we will pass that over, as the boys say nowadays, "skip it," and I will tell you of a hunt that was taken in the Dead Indian country many years ago. On this hunt I was accompanied by a man who has lived here nearly all his life and is well known, especially among the horseshoe pitchers. His name is Burrell Miller. We started out from Medford with a two-horse spring wagon and an extra saddle horse. As we were going down on the other side of the Dead Indian mountain a big black bear crossed the road in front of us. Poor old Bruin didn't know that two of the best bear dogs in the western country were right within sight of him. Old Lion and Trailer dashed after him and were not long in putting him up a tree. He was only a few hundred yards away, and as Mrs. Griffin was with us Burrell and I left her to look after the horses and followed the dogs. When we arrived at the tree we found that he had gone pretty high up and, as we were in somewhat of a hurry and it was getting late, I told Burrell that I would shoot him in the head and for him to be ready so if I should miscue and he should start down the tree, he could be ready to pour the bullets into him and I would do the same. I got a good bead on his head and fired. At the crack of the gun he rolled out of that tree like he had been hit in the head by a strong man with a sledgehammer. "Ha, ha," laughed Burrell as he watched the bear fall, "no need for me to shoot when you hit 'em like that." We hastily attended to the preliminary dressing, returned to the wagon and Mrs. Griffin and proceeded to the Mrs. Walker cabin on Dead Indian Creek and made camp. The next morning I told Burrell to take a saddle horse and a pack horse and go back to where we had left the bear and I would make a circle through the woods and try to get a deer. I had reached a point about a half or three-quarters of a mile from where we had left the bear without seeing a deer when Trailer struck a fresh bear track and was off like a cyclone heading straight for where we had left the other bear. He came up with the bear very close to where the other one was, but this bear decided to stay on the ground and had backed up against the limbs of a fallen tree and Trailer was keeping far enough away to be safe but keeping the bear's attention riveted on him while all the time notifying us that he had the bear cornered. It took Burrell but a few minutes to get there, and one shot in the head put an end to this bear's career. In the meantime I was getting there as fast as I could and was within a hundred yards when I heard the shot. I listened for a few seconds for another, but not hearing any, went up to see and sure enough Burrell had killed him with the first shot. We now had a bear for each horse, so we got the last one ready, loaded them on and took them into camp, where we proceeded to skin them and take care of the meat. I must tell you a good joke on Burrell, for I know he won't care. The day before, he was riding along behind the wagon when a bucket that we had hanging on the back of the hack fell off. Burrell rode up to it and instead of getting off his horse to pick it up, he leaned over and ran the end of his rifle under the bail and raised it up until he could reach it. But, just as he reached to take it off the gun, the horse suddenly scared at it and began to pitch and buck. I yelled to him and told him to drop the bucket, but if he heard me he didn't do as I told him but held on. He was neither expecting nor ready for this sudden turn, and pretty soon down he went, heels over head, still holding onto the bucket. He escaped without a scratch, but it sure was a laughable sight to see him sitting there still holding onto that bucket like it was the one important thing of the incident to save. Another time we were out hunting on horseback when his horse passed under a fir limb, which caught him under the arm and pulled him off. His foot caught in the stirrup, the horse started to run, and dragged him along the ground. I jerked my gun to my shoulder to shoot the horse but before I could shoot his foot came loose and I want to say that it was a great relief to me. Quick action was often necessary in those times to save a life, and while I was prepared to do so and did not hesitate, I was glad that I did not have to take a life in order to save another one. In the next installment I will tell you more about this same hunt, which will include both deer and cougars. Medford News, May 8, 1936, page 8 Dead Indian Hunt
Bags Many Deer for John Griffin By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
The
next day after we packed the bear in I stayed in camp to fix up a rack
to jerk the meat on, so Burrell took Trailer and went off south on the
west side of Dead Indian Creek through what was called Service Glade
and finally came to the edge of a bluff. While he was standing looking
down over the ground below him he saw a large buck get up out of his
bed and, being unaware of the danger that lurked near, stood there
stretching himself.
Burrell Dead Shot
Carefully choosing his time, Burrell pulled up and fired, putting a
bullet through him squarely behind the shoulders. He was a very large
buck with a fine pair of horns of an unusual type having nine points on
one side and thirteen on the other. Their oddity, of course, made them
desirable, but they were nevertheless a very nice pair of horns. A
short time afterward we fell in with a government man by the name of
Thompson and we gave him the horns. He seemed very delighted to get
them.
Back by Dinner Time
Burrell was back by dinner time, so after dinner we took the horses and
packed in the buck. The next morning it seemed to be up to me to skin
the buck, cut up his carcass and get him ready to jerk, and this gave
Burrell another chance to take Trailer out for another hunt, and he
headed out in the same direction that he had taken the day before. When
he was about a mile from camp he saw something gray run along ahead of
him for a short distance then disappear in a hole. Of course Trailer
was after it in an instant and, reaching the hole, he crawled right
down in and pretty soon came backing out with a fine large badger.
After as pretty a fight as you could wish to see, he killed it. That
was Trailer's first experience with a badger, in fact the first one
that he had ever seen. I had often heard that a good-sized badger could
whip most any dog, big or little, and was very much surprised to learn
that Trailer had made such short work of this one. I found out later,
however, that he had killed one once before for a man by the name of
Royce, whom you have heard of before in another story, and he afterward
killed one for me, which makes three to his credit that I know can be
sworn to.
Strikes Cougar Track
Burrell proceeded on up into Sarvis Glade where Trailer struck a cougar
track. It was cold, but he went to work on it and stayed with it for
three hours and finally jumped it away over on Soda Creek. It only made
a short run when it took to a tree and Trailer commenced to bark.
Burrell followed, and when he arrived at the tree there sat the cougar
and only about fifteen feet high. He worked around into a good
position, and when the cougar turned his head to look at him he was all
set and let him have it squarely in the forehead. He settled right down
but didn't fall out. Burrell thought he was dead and commenced to look
for a long pole to push him out with, then suddenly looking up he saw
the cougar commence to move his tail. Pretty soon he raised his head
and began to wriggle around. About this time Burrell thought it was
time to take some further action and sent a bullet into the side of his
head and this time he rolled out dead. Burrell skinned him and brought
the hide in and it measured just nine feet. He found that the first
bullet hadn't entered the skull but had merely creased the skull,
stunning him.
Too Good to Leave
We
had planned to go on farther to a place that I knew of, but the hunting
seemed so good right where we were that we concluded to stay right
there and do the balance of our hunting, so the next morning I took
Trailer and started out, leaving Burrell to look after the meat. I also
went out through Sarvis Glade and on toward Soda Creek. When I got
pretty well over toward the creek, I sent Trailer out through the brush
and small timber while I kept around the side of the hill. It was not
long until I heard him open up on a track of some kind. I was in a good
location so I just stood still and waited, as he seemed to be coming
toward me. But all at once he turned sharply and started toward the
creek opening up at every jump, and about this time I saw two big bucks
coming right to me. I stood perfectly still until, as the saying goes,
I could see the whites of their eyes, or a trifle less than thirty
steps. Then, I quickly caught a bead and dropped the first one right in
his tracks. The other one turned to the left and started down the hill
in great long jumps. About the fourth jump my bullet struck him right
behind the shoulders, and in a few more jumps down he went. One was an
eight-pointer and the other a four-pointer, but both about the same
size.
Trees Another Cougar
I
dressed them as soon as I could, not taking time to hang them up as I
was anxious to follow Trailer up, so I struck out in the direction I
had heard him going and after some time heard him and knew that he had
something treed. When I got there I found that it was another cougar, a
small one only about five or six feet, so I shot it and skinned it,
supposing all the time that Trailer was lying down near me somewhere,
but the hunting was too good for him to be still, and all at once I
heard the brush crack not very far away and in just a few minutes heard
Trailer giving me his signal that he had something else treed. I picked
up my gun and hastened to where he was and lo and behold he had another
cougar, this time a big one, and he was up a rather small fir tree.
Just as soon as it saw me it jumped out and began to run, but with
Trailer at his heels he was soon up another fir tree and this time had
selected a bigger tree that forked some distance up and settled himself
in the forks, feeling now fairly safe and in a position from which it
supposed I would come where he could watch. I knew he was very wary so
I used more caution this time, keeping behind trees and out of sight
and approaching from a different angle until I got right to the very
tree and, peeping around the side of the tree, I could see him up there
with his head only partly showing. I cocked the gun with my finger on
the trigger in order to make no noise, then quickly stepped out from
the tree, pulled up and caught a bead between the eyes. It threw its
ears back and gave a growl and hiss, but it was too late to
escape
now and at the crack of the Winchester he came tumbling out with a
bullet hole squarely between the eyes.
"Good Work, John"
It
was Trailer's turn now, and I let him have all the fun he wanted. I
then skinned him and packed out for camp. It was about two o'clock when
I reached there, and when Burrell saw the two hides, he said, "Pretty
good work, John."
"That is not all of it," I replied, by way of answer, "I have two big bucks out near Sarvis Glade and they're not hung up so we will have to saddle up and go out and get them." Look for Old Grizzly
He
smiled and started for the horses. After bringing them in we laid off
for two days to jerk the meat and take care of what we already had,
then broke camp and went over to Buck Prairie and camped one night and
the next morning started out toward Haight Prairie where we hoped that
we might run across an old grizzly that had been killing cattle
belonging to Major Barron, a bear that had been dubbed Old Reel Foot.
He was not in that locality, but Trailer treed a good-sized brown bear
which we shot without any trouble, and as we were coming back to camp
he got after a small black bear and ran him off quite a distance before
he could tree him. We heard him barking and was getting there as fast
as we could when we heard a couple of shots from that direction. When
we arrived there we found two men standing over Trailer's bear.
I told them that it was my dog, and that, of course, any game that he had treed belonged to me. This, they said, was all right with them, that all they wanted was the chance they had to shoot it, so we went on into camp and remained but one day longer before leaving for home, pretty well satisfied with our hunt. Medford News, June 5, 1936, page 1 John B. Griffin and D. H. Miller of Medford were hunting over on Applegate last week, and slaughtered sixteen deer and three bears. Bear in Siskiyou Gives John Grief
By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
I
used to hunt a great deal in the Siskiyou Mountains around the head of
Applegate Creek, and Little and Big Bend Mountain, Ashland Peak, Wagner
Mountain, and all through that range, and I knew every camping place
and all the best places to hunt. I was accompanied on many of these
trips by an old friend by the name of Miller.
We always had to take pack horses where now they travel by auto. The hunting was better then and the game more plentiful, so we generally came back loaded with a few fat bucks and now and then a fat bear, or cougar. On the hunt I am going to tell about this time [omission] is to principally for deer as it was the time of year when bear were not supposed to be in condition to be killed, and I always hated to kill a poor bear [a bear in poor condition]. But sometimes it will happen that a hunter will find himself in a position where he is compelled to kill or take desperate chances of getting killed. Well, on one of these trips with Dave Miller that is just what happened to me, but I came out victorious, as you know because I am telling you this story. But I sure had to make my Winchester work mighty fast. In fact a little overtime, I might say. I was mighty glad when it was over, but for all of that, it gave me a shock that threw my nervous system out of balance for the rest of the trip, and I want to ask the reader how you would like to be placed in the same position and try your nerve? But let us begin at the beginning. We were camped away up in the Siskiyous at what was called Tamarack Flat. We got through about noon and intended to make it our permanent camp, as we were surrounded by good hunting ground. We were confident we could get enough deer to load our horses, so we fixed camp, made a nice fir bough bed, and got ready to start in. However, there had come up a heavy fog, so Dave said he believed he would stay in camp and get wood, as he didn't know the country any too well and did not like to hunt in the fog. So I said, "That's all right, but I'm going out hunting, fog or no fog." So I got ready, filled the Winchester with cartridges and struck out. I took quite a roundabout trail up towards the top of the ridge and back down the hill and never got sight of a thing to shoot at, so I made up my mind to hike out for camp, as it was getting late and it was hard to tell how soon dark would come on account of the fog. So I lit out at a good gait and was getting down pretty well towards camp, when upon coming around a turn in the trail I was following I came face to face with a great big old lean grizzly. I sure wasn't expecting him, and to my surprise he turned a little bit sidewise and commenced to come right toward me, champing his teeth like a wild hog and snorting like a mule. I realized what I was up against, as he sure was on the fight, so I jerked my gun to my shoulder and shot. He straightened up but kept coming a little faster now. Here he came and I just sent one shot right after another into him. He was within ten or fifteen feet now. I couldn't miss, and my only chance was to keep on shooting. Crack! went the gun again, real close now, and this shot broke his shoulder. Down he went, rolling and crashing down the hill, and pretty soon he lay still. Did I go down? Not on your life! I headed for camp at a good pace and was mighty glad to be able to go. When I got in, Dave said, "What were you shooting at, John, an old buck?" "By gosh! You would think it was an old buck if you had been there in my place, Dave Miller. I was in the closest place with a bear that I ever was in my life." Then I told him. "Gosh, man," he said, "you sure had a narrow escape. Suppose your gun had failed you." "Yes, but it didn't, and if it had it would have been the first time." The next morning we went up and took Trailer with us. When he came to the place where the bear had rolled down the hill he walked off ahead of me for about thirty yards and there lay the bear, dead as a doornail. He went up to it and after smelling at it looked up at me as much as to say, "What did you want me for?" I said, "Never mind, Trailer. I'll not leave you in camp again on this trip." He was a great big old fellow, gray around the nose and teeth broke off and the skin was not worth taking, so we just walked off and let him lay. I afterwards wished that I had saved the head, but I never got back to that camp again. Dave said to me, "John, I don't see how in the world you could shoot that fast and hit anything. You shot faster than I could count." "Well," I said, "I sure didn't stop to count and I'm pretty well satisfied the way it is." We went on now to do our hunting, soon separating and each taking his own course. While I took up the ridge on the left side, Dave went up on the right. When I got on top of the ridge I followed along there for a few hundred yards and all at once I saw a black fox looking at me, not over eighty yards away. I pulled up and shot and killed him on the spot. It was a beauty, so I just sat down and skinned it and took the hide right along with me. I went on now and hadn't got more than three-fourths of a mile when I saw two big bucks lying down just a few yards apart, with their large antlers sticking up. Just in front of me was a large rock about four feet high and with a flat surface about four feet each way. I stooped down, working my way up to that rock slowly and quietly. Then I raised up and took a look and found that they hadn't yet discovered anything to disturb them. They were now within sixty yards of me and offered a pretty mark to shoot at, so I slid the gun along the top of the rock which made a dead rest and, drawing a bead down on the neck of one of them, fired. He just lay over on his side and must not have moved for a few seconds, for the other one did not jump up but threw his head up a little higher and looked toward where the noise came from. I shot again and over he went. I went up to where they lay and found that I had broken both their necks. They sure were two beautiful deer and looked good to me as they lay there stretched out full length with horns having six and seven points on each one. After dressing them and hanging them up the best I could I went on away up around the head of the canyon on my right without seeing anything and concluded to hunt down on that side on towards camp. When I got down quite a little distance I blew the horn to see if I could get an answer from Dave, as I knew he must be up in that locality somewhere. Sure enough, he answered me and I swung across in that direction. After a bit he called again, so I went on and soon got to him and found him sitting on a log with his hat off, and I could tell by his looks that something was the matter, so I sat down and said, "Well, what is it, Dave?" "It won't take long to tell you," he said. "I ran across two big bucks away off down below here and I killed one and wounded the other and I have been following him for hours but I never could get to see him so when I heard that horn I knew my troubles were over for I knew Trailer would get him for me." "Just take me to the track and show me blood and if Trailer don't get him, I'll pay for lying." We went down the hill a short distance and came to where it had passed along. I said to Trailer, "Go and hunt that up." Away he went, rather slow at first, without opening up at all. We stayed right where we were and waited. Pretty soon we heard him turn loose and in a few minutes we heard him commence to bay, away down below us. We made our way down there, and the buck was backed up in a bunch of brush and would lunge forward at him and then back up again. So I told Dave to shoot him and be sure to shoot him in the head, which he did and the scrap was over. Dave patted Trailer on the head and said, "Trailer, you're a dandy." While we were dressing him, all at once Dave thought to ask, "Did you kill anything, John?" "Yes, I killed two big bucks and a fox." "Gee willikins!" said Dave, "that's all we want. Let's get them and start for home." So that is just what we did. When we got there we had a big story to tell, especially about a big bear fight without either Dave or Trailer to assist or even being there to see it. Medford News, July 15, 1936, page 3 John B. Griffin is now more dangerous to deer and bear than ever before, having received one of the newest model Marlin magazine rifles last week. Old Trailer Makes Good for Squire
By JOHN B. GRIFFIN In
this story I am going to tell you of a hunt over in the Jenny Creek
country. In those days my brother-in-law, Melvin Naylor, lived near
there and had a station at Corral Creek on the Old Green Springs Road
some twenty-two miles from Ashland. Ten miles farther on toward Klamath
Falls was Parker Station, run and owned by Squire Parker, a man you
have heard me speak of before in these stories. These were the only two
stations, if I recollect aright, between Ashland and Klamath Falls. It
was a wild country, full of bear, deer, cougar and wildcats and also
enough rattlesnakes to make a timid person watch his step, I'll tell
the
world.
Asked to Round Up Bear
Medford News, November
27, 1936, page 1
I
had been invited to come over there and give the bear a roundup, as
neither Parker or Naylor had a dog that would run a bear. Parker had
never seen Trailer, but he had heard so much about him that he was
anxious to see him in action, so I accepted the invitation and he sure
got to see Trailer tried out and to his entire satisfaction and then
some.
But, to get to the story, I went over to Naylor's that night and found that he was unable to go to Parker's with me the next day as he had not expected me so soon, so I told him to go ahead and get ready to go the next day and I would go out alone that day and if I didn't get a bear I might get a buck. Heads for Hyatt Prairie
I
struck out and followed the wagon road for quite a distance then swung
off north around the west side of Big Round Mountain, which was called
"Old Baldy" in those days. This took me over toward Hyatt Prairie, and
I walked and hunted until towards noon without ever seeing a sign of a
deer. Not long after, however, Trailer struck a bear track and away he
went around the side of Old Baldy and soon was out of hearing. I
followed in the direction he went, and after a time I heard him. It
didn't sound like his bark when he had his game up a tree, nor was he
baying as he did when he was hot on the trail. It was quite unusual and
quite different, and I was somewhat puzzled so I hurried along, and
when
I came up close enough to see, he was standing on the edge of a square
hole or cave in the ground. It was about six feet long and three feet
wide. The sides, almost perpendicular, dropped down about six feet and
at the bottom a hole extended back under the hill. A rock shelf jutted
out about four feet down. It didn't look like it was man-made, and it
was always a mystery to me just how it had happened.
Gives Bear a Poke
I
knew from Trailer's actions that Mr. Bear must be in there out of
sight, so I hunted around and found a long slim pole arranged with a
hook on the end and, holding my gun in my left hand, I gave the hole a
quick punch.
Bear Doesn't Like It
"Yow!" he said, and gave the pole a jerk. I yanked it back and kept on
punching. He kept on grunting and trying to get the pole, but was too
foxy to come out. I began to think that I was up against it and would
have to acknowledge that I was beaten, but stopped to think it out and
finally hit upon an idea which was to block up his entrance and leave
him until the next day, when he would perhaps be willing to come out. I
got together enough heavy poles to reach across lengthwise and when I
had them placed I packed heavy rock and piled on them to weigh it down.
I then picked up my gun and told Trailer to come on. He had been
watching the whole performance without saying a word and must have
thought the bear was about ready to appear, for he was very reluctant
to leave. I told him again to come on and that we would return again
tomorrow. With that promise, he came and we started for home.
The next morning Naylor and I saddled up a couple of horses and, taking a long rope with us, proceeded to where I had penned up the bear. Trailer seemed to know just what we were going to do, for he kept ahead of us all the way until we got within a couple of hundred yards, then he hurried to the cave and commenced to bark furiously. I hardly understood why until we got there and had removed the stones and then I could see the bear lying on the shelf looking straight up at me. I quickly drew down my rifle and shot him square between the eyes and over he went to the bottom. Getting Him Out Different
When he was still we removed the balance of the rocks and the poles and
the next thing was to get him out. Naylor said he would go down and
fasten the rope on him and with him lifting and me pulling perhaps we
could get him out. I doubted it very much, for I could see that the
bear was fat and heavy, but consented to try, so down he went and
fastened the rope around his tusks and jaw and while I pulled, he
lifted but it was no go, the bear was too heavy. I said we would have
to try another scheme. I went and got a heavy pole, put it across one
end of the hole and blocked it with heavy rocks, then I got my horse,
took a turn around the horn of the saddle with the rope and up came the
bear and right out of the hole.
Trailer Acts Differently
Trailer was very much pleased to see him out, but never offered or
tried to take hold of him and shake him as he always did when one came
tumbling out of a tree. He had about the finest hide that ever came off
of any bear that I ever killed. He was coal black with just one white
spot on his breast. When we had him skinned and dressed he was
perfectly white all over with a thick coating of fat. We were very
pleased for he was a real prize.
Carcass Salted Down
In
the morning we cut up the carcass and salted it down, then hitched up
the horses and lit out for Squire Parker's, arriving there in time for
dinner. In the afternoon we again hitched the horses to the wagon,
Squire taking a saddle horse and leading the way to a place where he
thought we stood a quick chance to find a bear. We traveled over an old
road that led off through the woods, and when we had gone just a few
miles from the house Trailer struck a bear track and off he went like a
skyrocket. Squire and I followed him up and after we listened for some
time I knew that he had it treed so we sent two cur dogs that were with
us to help Trailer keep the bear up the tree, for when a bear hears a
man coming he sometimes comes down in spite of the dog.
It was well that we did, for when we got near the tree it started to come down and come down fast too. We ran as fast as we could, but the bear came on down and landed right in the mouths of those three dogs. Then began one of the prettiest fights that I have ever seen. The cur dogs, not being trained, each took a hold on either side of the bear's head, while Trailer grabbed at his favorite hold, a ham. Trailer began to yank back and the lively battle began. After the bear had torn both the cur dogs loose with his paws, he reared back to get Trailer, but Trailer was too wise for him and was out of the way of those murderous paws. John Grabs Tommyhawk
The
two cur dogs then sprang in again and each seized him by the side of
the head. By the time they had each got there old Trailer was again
yanking at the ham. This time the bear went down in a heap. I could see
that there was no chance to shoot so I handed Squire my gun and
grabbing my tommyhawk rushed up to get in a lick that might save the
life of one or both of the cur dogs. As the bear got up he knocked both
dogs loose and made a grab for my leg but missed.
I sprang back and grabbed my gun, and while I was making this move the two cur dogs grabbed him again. I watched my chance and as he rolled over on his back, trying to knock off the two dogs at his head, I let him have it just behind the shoulder and the fight was over. We went back and got Naylor and the wagon, then returned and loaded in the bear and proceeded on home all happy and feeling that we had made a fair start. Squire Parker was highly elated, not only with the good luck that we were having but at the way Trailer had worked with the bear. Cub Next on List
The
next morning we all took saddle horses and coupled the two cur dogs
together so they could not run until we were ready to let them go, for
they liked to run deer too well and this, of course, Trailer never did.
When we got about three miles into the woods Trailer struck a bear
track again and in a short time had it treed. This time we were very
careful and took much pains to get there without being heard for fear
that it might come down again. Lo and behold, when we got to where we
could see, it was only a cub that must have strayed from its mother.
Trailer Hits Cold Track
We
were just a bit more disappointed, as we had been counting on a large
one. However, we killed it, dressed it and hung it up and struck out
again. It was quite a while this time before Trailer struck another
track, and when he did it was a cold one under some large sugar pines
where he had been hunting for nuts. Round and round went Trailer
working on that track and finally found where it had left and started
off directly east. The track was a little fresher now and soon he was
making better time and now breaking into a run, opening up at every
jump. Squire started to follow as fast as his horse could go.
He had made the boast just a few minutes before that he was going to keep right up with him to watch him tree his game. Naylor and I rode along in a walk and I said, "Let him go, he must have his experience, he will find out his mistake soon enough." "Yes," replied Naylor with a chuckle, "he sure will." They passed through some timber and were soon out of sight. Trailer was running pretty fast now and in a short time he was out of hearing. About half a mile farther we overtook Squire. He had stopped his horse and had both hands back of his ears straining every nerve to catch a sound of Trailer. We were both laughing as we came up and I said, "Squire, you [might] just as well try to keep up with a cyclone as try to follow Trailer through these woods when he is on the trail of a bear." "It does look a little that way," he replied, "But I thought I'd try." Hear Him Toward Klamath
We
rode on, keeping in the same general direction for perhaps two or three
miles, stopping every little while to listen, and at last we were
rewarded with a long "bow-wow-wow" far off and down toward the Klamath
River. I kept the cur dogs with me until we got within about a quarter
of a mile, then I told Squire and Naylor that I thought it would be a
good plan to tie our horses here and for them to stay here too. I would
take the other dogs and go on down to the tree where Trailer was, turn
them loose and proceed to get under the tree, then I would blow the
horn and they could bring the horses to within a couple of hundred
yards, tie them up and join me at the tree afoot. I cautioned them to
make as little noise as possible.
Find 2-Year-Old Brown
When I got to the tree I found that it was only a rather small
two-year-old bear. He was brown and was up a small pine that was open
all around, leaving him no place to hide. I blew the horn and waited;
after awhile I heard them coming and so did the bear and he decided
that it was about time for him to move so down he started, tail
foremost. I stepped right up under him and tried to scare him back. He
did go back a few feet, but when he looked up and saw those fellows
coming he started back down. When he got close enough I punched him
with my gun, but it didn't stop him. I stepped back out of the way and
he literally dropped right into the mouths of the waiting dogs. The cur
dogs each grabbed him by the side of the head. Trailer had him by the
ham and with one mighty yank pulled him off his feet. As he went down I
could see that this was my opportunity, so I jerked out my tommyhawk
and struck him on the top of the head, which stunned him. I struck him
another and he rolled over dead.
We loaded him on one of the horses and racked out for home, stopping to pick up the cub, and reached home after being gone about half a day. As we rode along Squire looked at Trailer and said, "John, [I think you may] have the best bear dog in the world." Haven't Seen Anything Yet
"Squire," I replied, "you really haven't seen him work yet."
"Well, if I had him I would catch a bear every day." "Then you would soon have no dog at all, for it would mean that you would just work him to death. I want him to live a long time yet so I'm going to take care of him." "That's right, John, that's right, but he sure is one fine dog." Trailer Pulls a Surprise
The
afternoon was spent dressing and packing the meat to cure. Both Naylor
and I were ready to go home, but Squire begged us to stay just one more
day, so we consented and the next morning saddled up and started out
again. I coupled the two cur dogs together again so that Trailer's work
would not be interfered with, and we started out toward Johnson's
Prairie. We rode until about noon before Trailer found a track of any
description, and then he found something. It was a cold trail and so
indistinct that we could not discern what it was, but he kept at it for
several hours and finally it got fresher and he trailed it to a patch
of brush.
Into the brush he went on a run and pretty soon out rushed a big cougar. Trailer was right behind and he was not long in putting it up a tree. Squire shot it out and it measured nine feet. "Now," said I to Squire, "you've really seen Trailer work." "I sure have, and I know now that there are very few like him." It was getting late and we struck out for home, staying with Squire that night, and the next day Naylor and I returned to our respective homes. I hope the readers are as satisfied with this true story as we were with our trip. John Griffin, of Dead Indian, made a good shot with a pocket pistol some time since, killing a big buck at a distance of 60 yards, by breaking its neck at the first shot. Griffin Tells of Indians and Wild
Game Encountered
During Early-Day Wagon Trip to Boise, Idaho By JOHN B. GRIFFIN
In
the year 1873, when I was just twenty years old, my father and mother
and my sister and I made a trip from where we were then living here in
Jackson County, Oregon to Boise, Idaho, to visit my older sister, who
was the wife of Hon. John Hailey, then a delegate to Congress from the
Territory of Idaho.
Went by Fort Klamath
It
was the 20th of September when we started, and we had,
besides
the four horses hitched to the wagon, four other horses which we were
taking along to sell. We went by the way of Fort Klamath, which was a
military post in those days, and there were several companies of
soldiers stationed there. It was not long after the Modoc War, and they
had Capt. Jack, Black Jim, Bogus Charley and Schonchin there in the
guard house, and all the balance of the Modocs' men, women and children
were in a large stockade with a walk all around the top and guards with
rifles stationed at the corners and walking round and round.
Doomed Indians Chained
I
visited the guard house where Capt. Jack and the other three were being
held under sentence of death which was to be on October third. It was a
large building made of huge logs, and I was told that, even in there,
they were shackled and chained to the floor. In addition to this there
was a soldier walking back and forth in front of the door with a rifle
on his shoulder and a number of other soldiers sitting on a bench near
the door. It was sure a great sight for me, as I had never seen a
military post before. I sure felt sorry for those poor helpless people,
even if they had violated the laws of the land. The next day we went
on, and on the 2nd day of October we arrived at Sprague River and, as
we went up the valley, we met hundreds of Indians going to Fort Klamath
to be there on the day of the execution. That night we camped near
where the town of Beatty now stands, and the next day we went on up the
valley and camped at Round Grove about eight miles the other side of
Bly, which was on October 3rd, the day of the execution.
Wild Game Abounded
I
had often heard my mother tell about the prairie chickens, the sage
hens and the buffalo that they had seen hunted and eaten while crossing
the plains, but up until this time I had never seen a prairie chicken.
That day, before we got to our camp I killed a prairie chicken, which
pleased me very much. There were lots of coyotes, and if I had had a
Winchester I could have made it hot for them, but I only had a
muzzle-loading gun and a Smith & Wesson pistol, neither of
which
filled the bill for this kind of game.
Coyotes Chase Dogs
One day the dog
we had with us ran off after a coyote, and it was not long until back
he came on a dead run with three coyotes right after him. When I heard
them coming I jumped off my horse, pulled up my muzzleloader and shot
the first one. The other two swung back into the sagebrush and were out
of sight before I could draw my pistol and shoot. This was new to me. I
had never been in a place before where the coyotes were so thick and so
bold. One day four big ones crossed the road right in front of me. The
muzzleloader was back in the wagon, so I pulled my other pistol and
turned loose on them and I sure made a scatterment. I don't think I hit
one of them.
Sage Hens Friendly
Before we got
to Warner Valley we camped for dinner and I took the gun and went out
to see if I could find something to shoot, and I ran across a flock of
sage hens within three hundred yards of camp.
They flew up, then stopped a short distance away. I followed carefully and when I saw one pulled up and shot it, expecting the others to fly away, but they did not so I reloaded and shot again, killing another one. I shot still another one before they took alarm and flew away. I took them into camp high elated at my good luck. I had never eaten any sage hen, but that night we had sage hen for supper and we all thought they were fine. Kills Naked Coyote
We
arrived that night at the Bill Jones place in Warner Valley. We stopped
there two days, and the first day I went down about two miles to have a
look at the lake. The next day all the folks went away and left me to
take care of camp. We had a very good spyglass, and I got it out and
was standing with my elbow on the wheel of the wagon looking through
the glass down toward the lake. When I got through looking and lowered
the glass, there stood a coyote right at the end of the wagon tongue.
He was poor and scrawny, and didn't have a speck of hair on him, and I
was almost ashamed of myself for killing him. But I consoled myself
with the thought that it was a good thing to put him out of his misery.
He had probably picked up a dose of strychnine which had not been
enough to kill him but had just left him in that condition.
Wolves Howl at Night
The
next day we continued on our journey, and at the end of the second day
we reached Steens Mountain where we came to a big cattle ranch and we
made our camp nearby. This was sure an interesting place to me.
Sagebrush covered the whole country, and soon after it got dark, and
while we were sitting around our campfire we suddenly were startled by
the howl of a wolf, a long dismal howl, answered by another in a
different direction and then another. We were surrounded by wolves who
kept up their howling for quite awhile. It would almost make the hair
stand on your head. They kept it up for quite awhile but finally died
down and we were allowed to get some rest. It was a new experience to
me, and I just longed to get a chance to see one of those big gray
fellows and get a crack at him with my rifle, but they told me that you
could ride the country day after day looking for cattle and never catch
a sight of a wolf.
The next night we camped on the east side of Steens Mountain, and as we topped the last ridge, down before us lay thousands and thousands of acres of level country; miles and miles of it, seemingly as far as the eye could see. Here is the first time I ever saw a mirage. Sees Lake in Mirage
As
I looked down upon the scene before me, there lay a beautiful lake,
blue and inviting. It seemed to be about a half mile away, so I took my
gun and thought I would strolled down there and get a closer view of
it. So on I went down the road until I got to the foot of the hill and
reached level ground. Then I turned and followed a trail in the
direction of the lake, but when I got to where it ought to be, there
was no lake there. From where I stood I could see many miles and not a
sign of a lake anywhere.
Lake Disappears
To say that I
was puzzled would hardly express it. I was dumbfounded. I could not
think it possible. I went back to camp and when I got there about the
first hard work I did was to look for the lake where I had seen it. The
sun was considerably lower now and there was no lake in sight; it had
taken flight and was gone. I got out the spying glass and scanned the
country for miles, but no lake, so I had to give it up.
Cross 18-Mile Desert
The
next morning we drove across an alkali desert that was eighteen miles
wide and almost as level as a floor and not a spear of grass in sight.
That evening we arrived at old Camp C. F. Smith, where some [omission]
during the Indian war. Living at the camp was a man by the name of
[John S.] Devine, who had a band of over three thousand head of cattle
and several hundred head of horses. His cowboys and teamsters occupied
the adobe houses that had been erected by and used for the soldiers.
Hospitality Was Watchword
Hospitality was a watchword among most of the ranchers and settlers in
those days, and Devine had us come to his house to sleep and eat, and
when we were ready to leave gave us beef and flour and several things
that we were short of at the time. He had married a Spanish senorita, a
refined, gracious and very beautiful woman.
Crooked River Well Named
Crooked
River was the next stop, and say, whoever gave it that name sure named
it properly. It was so crooked that just walking along its banks one
could hardly tell which side of the stream he was on. It is the
crookedest river I ever saw. You could stand in one spot and fish
either to the right or to the left and catch fish anywhere, for the
river was full of them. We traveled for more than half a day along this
river. It was just the same all the way and not an inhabitant anywhere
along the route.
Two Days Between Ranches
Finally we
arrived at the Jordan Valley, and here was quite a settlement and for
the first time in many days it began to look like civilization again,
but it was just a slight break in the monotony, for after leaving
Jordan Valley we traveled for two days before we came to another ranch.
Up hill and down we would travel, reaching what looked like the top,
only to find that we had to descend again and begin another climb.
Kills Antelope
As we came to
one of these depressions, with all of the country covered with fine
bunchgrass, a big band of antelope crossed the road right in front of
us. These were the first antelope we had seen on the trip, and really
the first I had ever seen. They ran down a long deep gulch to our left,
the whole herd starting down the ridge on the opposite side. My hunting
blood was immediately up. I jumped off my horse, my sister passed me
out my gun and, quicker than it takes to tell it, I was running down
that gulch headed for an open pass that the herd was headed for. I got
there just in time. Part of the herd had already passed by, and as I
stopped one of the bucks suddenly stopped, turned with his breast
toward me and threw up his head, looking for the wagon which was still
in sight but far above me now. Quickly I caught a bead on his breast
and fired. He reared back on his hind legs, rolled over and I knew that
he was my meat. The others passed on very quickly and were soon out of
sight.
Antelope Steak Delicious
Perhaps you
think that I didn't step high on my way back to the wagon. If you do
you have another think coming. I got my saddle horse, loaded on the
buck, brought him up to the wagon, and we were soon on our way again.
That night I ate antelope steak for the first time, and it sure was as
fine meat as I ever tasted.
Cross Snake on Ferry
The
next day we got to Snake River and crossed on the ferry boat where the
river was two hundred and seventy-three yards wide. It was the largest
river I had ever seen, and the next night we camped on the Boise River.
About noon the next day we reached Boise City and all of us, including
the horses, were pretty well fagged out and mighty glad to finally
reach our destination. I gave the antelope horns to my sister, the wife
of Hon. John Hailey. She kept them for over forty years, but before she
died returned them to me, and I still have them. The muzzle-loading
rifle with which I killed him is now in the relic or museum building at
Jacksonville, and the antelope was killed on the 17th of October, 1873.
In my next installment I will tell you of a continuation of this same trip and of a hunt that was for something other than wild game. This time it was for men, so watch for the conclusion of the story. I stayed in Boise but a short time then went down to my brother's place on the Payette River. My father, mother and sister who made the trip with me remained in Boise for a year or until the next October, while I remained with my brother until the next March in the year 1874. My feet got to itching again at about this time, and another brother, Lafayette, and I went down to Walla Walla, Washington, where one of my older brothers [Burrell W. Griffin] had a stock ranch some seven miles or so from town on what was called Dry Creek. This brother was at that time the sheriff of Walla Walla County, and as these duties kept away from home a great deal we took charge of the ranch and worked for him until fall. Three Prisoners Escape
My brother, the
sheriff, had eleven prisoners, and one night three of them made their
escape. This was not so good for him, as these men had been sentenced
to the state prison and were only awaiting transportation. Naturally he
was very anxious to catch them, so he called on my brother and me to
help him. Two of these men were half-breeds, being French and Indian,
and the other an American.
Head for Settlement
There
was a French settlement [probably
Lowden, Washington]
down the river about eleven miles from Walla Walla, and of course we
thought that would be the most likely place to find them or get some
word about them. It was hard to get any information about them at
first, but after a day or so we learned that they had stolen a horse
apiece and were heading for British Columbia. The likely route for them
to follow then, we thought, would be the one traveling up the Columbia
River, so early on the fifth day of July we left Walla Walla and rode
hard down the Snake River until we reached the old Indian trail that
stretched out up the Columbia.
Indians Give Clue
We
came across some Indians that night, and as we could talk a little in
their language we asked them some questions and learned that our men
had crossed the river the evening before. It was just a little after
daylight, so we knew that they could not be so very far ahead of us. We
got the Indians to take us across the river in their canoes, we leading
our horses who, of course, had to swim. But we all made it across like
a top and, after a hasty breakfast, we lit out and rode at a good pace
until about two o'clock in the afternoon, when we came to a small
cattle ranch owned by a man by the name of Koontz. How he ever came to
settle there in such an isolated spot when he had so much good country
to choose from was always a mystery to me. No neighbors probably within
fifty miles and entirely surrounded by Indians, coyotes and
rattlesnakes. We didn't pay much attention to either of these just
then, as we were after a different kind of game.
Defied by Rattler
However, one
big old rattler crawled out in the middle of the trail, curled up and
began to rattle and hiss as though defying us, but one charge of
buckshot riddled him plenty, and we rode on by. But "believe it or not"
I want to tell you something, as we rode along that sagebrush trail you
could hear rattlers as they crawled away, and the coyotes would just
stand and look at us within easy shooting distance. My brother had a
double-barreled muzzle-loading shotgun and I had a six-shooter, but we
had no time to fool with them and did not want to make any more noise
and commotion than we could help either. That evening we came to
another ranch and found another man who was crazy enough to bring his
family up into his forsaken country to try to make a home for them. We
got supper here then were on our way again, riding all night with the
exception of a couple of short stops to let our horses rest and eat
when we found some good grass for them. We would unsaddle and lie down
on the ground on our saddle blankets, make a pillow of our saddles and
rest and sleep for an hour or so and then on again.
Early in the morning, just as daylight was fully upon us, we met an Indian riding toward us on a white pony. As he came up we stopped and thinking I might be able to get some information from him I said, in a tongue I thought he could understand, "Clihiam six," which means, "How do you do, my friend." He stopped, gave a friendly salute and said, "Clihiam." "Mica nonitch clone Bostan man," I asked, which means, "Have you seen three white men." "Now wit kee, now wit kee," he replied, meaning, "Yes, I saw them." "Ki mica nanitch," I said: "When did you see them." "A coke sun sish," he answered. (Just before sunup.) Close Upon Prey
I
thanked him and we went on. So they were not far ahead of us now, and
by a little hard riding we would soon come up with them. After a short
time and having urged our horses on to do their best, we came to the
big bend in the Columbia River. Instead of following the course of the
river we cut straight across, saving some time. There was an Indian
camp there, and I made some further inquiries only to learn that the
men had been there but had just left. Pretty sure of our game now, we
lit out up the river at a good pace and soon came to a large bluff,
close against which the river ran, with a narrow trail hugging the
bluff closely. When we got around the bluff we found that the river had
risen and covered a low place in the trail, and we had to go around,
keeping to the higher ground.
As we were working our way around, we looked across to the other side and there we saw them going around on the other side, riding slowly and unconcerned and unaware that we were officers of the law and out after them. Half-Breeds Surrender
We
hurried around, and as the trail got a little better we urged our
horses to a run and were soon overtaking them. The half-breeds saw that
the game was up and surrendered at once with their hands up, but the
white man made a dash to escape. We quickly found that the half-breeds
had no firearms, so leaving them there in the trail we lit out after
the white man on a dead run. In less than half a mile we came up to
where we could see him, and when we got close enough he pulled out a
pistol and began to shoot. He didn't have to shoot more than once until
my brother had his shotgun to his shoulder and let him have just one
barrel. It struck him in the shoulder and neck, and he rolled off his
horse badly wounded.
Canoe Comes in Handy
He
was quiet enough now, and in a little time we had him fixed up so that
we could get him to the river where we hired an Indian to take him down
the river to Washdougal in a canoe.
We took the half-breeds with their stolen horses and started back. We rode the biggest part of that night, and the next day we arrived at Washdougal just a little after dark and upon inquiry found that the Indian had already arrived with the white man, whose name was Cox. Stolen Horses Returned
That
night we telegraphed my brother the sheriff at Walla Walla, who came
with a hack and took the prisoners back. The stolen horses were
returned to their owners and thus ended the manhunt and that part, at
least, of the career of the jailbreakers. Cox, the man that we shot,
was not hurt as badly as we at first thought. After the doctor had
removed the shot from his shoulder he was well in a few weeks.
My brother, the sheriff, gave each of us a fine saddle horse for our pay, and as I already had a horse I sold mine before I left for one hundred and twenty-five dollars. My father and mother soon came this way on their trip from Boise and we began our trip back to the Rogue River Valley, landing here about November first, having been gone just a little over a year. Medford News, March 12, 1937, page 1 Death Calls Pioneer John Griffin
John B. Griffin, one of the first white children born in the Rogue
River Valley, and one of the last members of that band of rugged youths
who roamed the forests of Southern Oregon when there were more bears,
cougars, deer and elk than there are now hunters in the season, died
last Sunday morning in the home of his niece, Mrs. Emma Davis of
Ashland. A page was turned in the book of Jackson County history as he
went to the "happy hunting ground," for the stories that were his to
tell will live again only through the printed page. He was in his
eighty-sixth year, when the heart that had never failed, though the
biggest bear came over the mountain, succumbed to an attack, which
began Saturday evening.
Funeral rites were held Tuesday afternoon in the Conger chapel, crowded with friends and admirers of the [illegible] frontiersman, whose father, Burrel B. Griffin, actively engaged in Indian wars on Sterling, Applegate and Williams Creek. The body of "Uncle John" was then returned to the hill country that he loved in the Griffin Creek Cemetery. Last rites were conducted by the Rev. D. E. Millard. Pallbearers were F. D. Wagner, Lew Reynolds and Hugo Reinbold of Ashland; William R. Coleman, J. B. Coleman and Syd I. Brown of Medford. Almost as famous in Southern Oregon as John B. Griffin were his bear dogs, of whom he talked and wrote fluently during his late years. Many of his stories of the hunt appeared in the Medford News and were widely read by persons interested in the tales and the teller as well as in the perpetuation of that certain romance, which belongs to a country only when she is young, with her timber unspoiled and her grasses, as Uncle John's father used to say, "belly high to the horse." As one of the oldest native sons of Jacksonville, Mr. Griffin was a colorful figure at each meeting of the Southern Oregon Pioneer Association. He usually read a poem, or perhaps a story, and frequently inspired debate on that much-disputed question "Who was the first white child born in Jackson County?" He was as much a part of the day's festivities as the basket dinner. In 1878 Mr. Griffin married Nettie Naylor, daughter of Granville Naylor, who built the first sawmill in Jackson County. Mrs. Griffin died in 1936, at which time Mr. Griffin left the Medford home to reside in Ashland. Three children survive: Mrs. Abbie Bailey of Merrill, Lawrence Griffin of Bly and Everett Griffin of Trinidad, Calif. Survivors also include five great-grandchildren. Medford News, May 5, 1939, page 1 Last revised July 12, 2009 For more complete names of persons identified by initials (when known), see the Index. |
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