Just as I reached the edge of the woods by a sawmill in the Medicine Bow Mountains, a young grizzly rushed at me as though to “chew me up.” She frightened me for a second, but the next instant I realized that it was only a bluff.

“You are not polite to strangers,” I said to her.

She stood still for a minute, looked at me quietly, and then began leaping and racing about me like an awkward puppy who has just made your acquaintance and is eager for play.

“Miss Grizzly” had been captured when a small cub, about a year and a half before, and raised by the foreman of the mill. The pet and favorite of all the men in camp, she had the freedom of the place, played with the visiting teamsters, and welcomed strangers. She was companionable with every one, but was nobody’s grizzly.

Early in her life at the mill she had learned to be afraid of the big buzzing saw. One day as she stood several feet away, either listening to the hum of the saw or watching the dust thrown from it, the saw chanced to strike a knot. A piece of this flew and struck Miss Grizzly solidly between the eyes, raising a lump. She was exceedingly wary of the saw after that. Although she ranged around it, she never risked going too close again. Often she leaped upon a log as it was starting on the carrier for the saw, but she never failed to leap off before getting as near the saw as she had been when struck by the flying chip.

A logger from several miles away who had come to remain at the mill for some time brought with him his pet black bear. All the men were assembled in the bunk-house to see the meeting of the two bears. Miss Grizzly was in the room when the black bear came in. The instant the black bear caught sight of Miss Grizzly he was “scared out of his wits.” He at once turned about and tried to run from the room. But haughty Miss Grizzly acted indifferently. Although she was much smaller than the black, there was no fear; she pretended that she had not seen him. Ignoring him, she went out of the room by the rear door and began playing with one of the dogs.

Miss Grizzly was ever independent, resourceful, and capable. One day a teamster handed her a bottle of catsup. Standing erect, she took it deftly in her fore paws. She was greatly interested in it—probably in the color. In turning it about she caught sight of a floating air-bubble. Inverting the bottle from end to end, she tried to make this out; she held it between her eyes and the light, she shook it back and forth close to her ear. Then, going directly to a near-by log, she brought the bottle down upon it and catsup splashed in all directions. Her curiosity satisfied, she seemed to enjoy licking up the catsup.

The men never teased Miss Grizzly nor attempted to teach her any tricks. Consequently her disposition was uniformly of the best. She enjoyed cartwheeling and liked to have the men start her with a little push down the slope near the mill. Curling her nose behind her toes, she rolled over and over. Occasionally she climbed upon the flat-roofed lumber-shed for the fun of rolling off. While she did much climbing over the logs and lumber-piles and on the low roofs, she did not attempt to climb a tree after the first few weeks she was at the mill.She was never chained and she rambled about wherever she liked. She spent most of her time at the sawmill or close to it. Occasionally she followed one of the loggers off into the woods. Sometimes by the hour she would lie near where he was working, interested in the flying chips. Sometimes she would go off on a little hunting-excursion, tear an old stump to pieces, or overturn rocks in search of ants and grubs. One day a tree in falling sent a shower of limbs all about Miss Grizzly, one of them apparently striking her. She was not injured, but, bawling like a frightened baby, she turned and ran for camp, and never again did she go to the woods with the logger.

Miss Grizzly was usually fed just outside the cook-house door. She preferred to eat in seclusion. But when especially hungry she came boldly into the dining-room while the men were eating. Walking round the table, she accepted whatever was offered her—and every one offered her something.

She was fond of the teamster who arrived twice a week with supplies and usually followed him homeward, running along behind the wagon. Now and then she preferred to ride close to him with her nose on his shoulder, sitting on her haunches like a big dog. Usually she went only two or three miles and then returned promptly home, but occasionally she lingered. One day, during her third summer at the mill, she followed the teamster as usual but did not return until in the night. After this she made an occasional excursion into the woods alone, sometimes being gone a day or two. One day, after an unusually long absence, she came back accompanied by another young grizzly.

Tracks in the dust showed that the stranger had hesitated to approach the mill. Within two or three hundred yards of it he had reared up, alert, as though he had scented or heard something alarming. Here and there in the road Miss Grizzly had evidently turned back to reassure him. Both finally came within a short distance of the mill, when at the appearance of one of the men the strange bear turned and fled.

The first winter Miss Grizzly did not offer to hibernate. She was fed regularly, and the men never thought of encouraging her to den up. But the second winter she slept three months. About the first of December she dug a den back into the side of the big sawdust pile and crawled in. Two or three times during the winter the men wakened her, and she came to the mouth of the den and then returned to sleep. Once she came out for a few hours, but, though tempted, refused to eat. Ordinarily Miss Grizzly slept outside the sawmill, against one end of the building; but sometimes she spent the night beneath the edge of the slab-pile.

The third autumn at the mill Miss Grizzly made numerous excursions into the woods alone, and one day she went off on one from which she did not return.

BEN FRANKLIN

James Capen Adams, known as “Grizzly Adams,” the celebrated hunter and trapper of wild American animals, was easily foremost for what he accomplished in showing the real character of the grizzly bear. His biography, “The Adventures of James Capen Adams,” tells of his intelligent, sympathetic, and successful methods in handling grizzly bears, whether they were young or old. He made loyal companions of grizzlies and trained them so that they served him capably in a number of capacities. In the handling of these animals Adams studied their character. He was uniformly sympathetic, kind, calm, and firm. He endeavored to accomplish any desired end through gentleness and by appeal to the animal’s interest and loyalty. Force and torture, which so often are the chief equipment of animal-trainers, had no place in his methods.

The story of Ben Franklin and his bringing-up by Adams gives an excellent view of a real grizzly and an excellent master. Adams took Ben Franklin from a den when he was a tiny blind cub. At first he was fed on a mixture of water, flour, and sugar, and then Adams persuaded a greyhound which was nursing a puppy, Rambler, to suckle Ben. Ben, while nursing, was made to wear buckskin mittens to prevent his scratching his foster-mother. Ben and Rambler became lifelong companions, and when not asleep spent most of their time playing and tussling with each other.

Sometimes, when traveling through the mountains with them when they were still small, Adams would take them out of the wagon and allow them to play together. They chased each other over the grass or had merry races after rabbits, squirrels, or prairie-dogs. When older, they enjoyed traveling all day together on foot. On a number of occasions it was necessary for Ben to wear buckskin mocca sins to protect his feet from the sharp rocks and the desert sand, and once, after he was much larger, his feet became so sore he was loaded into the wagon and hauled for a day or two.

Ben quickly outstripped his foster-brother in size, but, although very swift of foot, he was soon outrun by the greyhound. Several times Ben and Rambler came upon the fleet-footed antelope, which Rambler closely pursued for miles. Ben would usually race for half a mile or so, then, being unable to keep up with Rambler, would sit down, look around for a minute, and return to his master. For several years they followed Adams in his long hunting-trips across the mountains.

Adams sometimes tempted Ben by placing within his reach scraps of dainty food, but he was so well trained that he never touched any food until it was given to him. Often, when hungry, Ben would sit on his haunches near his master, occasionally looking up into his face and remonstrating if he did not receive attention.

When Ben became larger, Adams trained him as a pack-animal, and Ben carried the camp outfit and supplies on his back through the wilderness. At other times he was used with Rambler in hunting, or when Adams was attacking a grizzly. Ben was once severely injured in a fight with a jaguar. He was not chained except when near a village, and then only for the safety of the excited dogs.

On one of his hunting-expeditions in the mountains of Oregon, Adams had what he considered one of the narrowest escapes of his life. He had with him as usual Rambler and Ben Franklin. While passing through a thicket Adams came unexpectedly upon a mother grizzly with cubs. The mother bear at once knocked him down and began to chew him up. Ben Franklin had not heretofore seen one of his kin.

“What will Ben do?” thought Adams, “help me or join his own kind and also attack me?”

There was neither doubt nor hesitation in Ben’s mind. Though young and small, he went to the defense of his master against a grizzly five times his own size. So vigorously did Ben throw himself upon the big grizzly that she turned from Adams and vented her fury upon Ben. Though badly wounded, Adams was able with this opportunity to reach for his rifle and kill the grizzly.

Ben ran howling to camp. Adams, also frightfully injured, followed, and found Ben lying under the wagon licking his bleeding sides. So grateful was he to Ben for saving his life that he dressed the little bear’s wounds before giving attention to his own, and remained in camp several days, giving Ben every possible attention and opportunity to recover. We can understand his saying of Ben Franklin: “The most excellent of all beasts, as faithful as it is possible for any animal to be; Ben Franklin, the king of the forest, the flower of his race, my firmest friend.”

The following tribute to Ben Franklin appeared in the San Francisco “Evening Bulletin” of January 19, 1858:—

“DEATH OF A DISTINGUISHED NATIVE CALIFORNIAN

“Ben Franklin, the grizzly bear, the favorite of the Museum man, Adams, the companion for the last three or four years of his various expeditions in the mountains and his sojourns in the cities and towns of California, departed from this mortal existence on Sunday evening, at 10 o’clock. The noble brute, which was captured at the head-waters of the Merced River in 1854, had been raised by his master from a cub, and during his life manifested the most indubitable indications of remarkable sagacity and affection. He was ever tame and gentle, and although possessed of the size and strength of a giant among brutes, was in disposition peaceful; rough it is true, in his playfulness, but always well disposed. He frequently carried his master’s pack, provisions and weapons; frequently shared his blanket and fed from the same loaf.

“One of his eyes was observed to be injured and several scars were to be seen about his head and neck; but they were honorable wounds and reflected as much credit upon poor Ben as the scars of a brave soldier. They were all received in the service of his human friend, protector and master. As might be supposed his loss has been severely felt by Adams.”

MISS JIM AND MR. BESSIE

During many years in the West, Mr. Philip A. Rollins was an accurate and sympathetic observer of the grizzly bear. He knew him in various localities, and saw him under countless conditions. He hunted him with a gun and then without a gun. He raised grizzlies, kindly and intelligently. He is one of the highest authorities on the grizzly. He kindly wrote for me the following from his personal experience:—

“To one who knows and loves bears, Enos A. Mills, from one who loves them, Philip A. Rollins.

“One summer day, now almost thirty years ago, a cowboy, hunting from our Wyoming ranch, killed a female grizzly bear. Her two attendant cubs were brought to the ranch by the cowboy, an operation which decreased the value of his clothing, and lessened the quantity of his skin. The names of Jim and Bessie, hastily bestowed as the party, in part hauling and swearing, and in part twisting and growling, made its arrival, were, for the sake of accuracy, later changed to Miss Jim and Mr. Bessie.

“The youngsters were presently introduced to their sleeping quarters in the ‘bear parlor,’ an enclosure connecting with the main room of the ranch house by a doorway usually closed only with several curtains of heavy felt. Five black bears had their abode in the ‘bear parlor’ when the little grizzlies registered their advent—a registration effected by clawing and biting everybody and everything within reach. After a few days marked by pandemonium and the enticements of very frequent meals, Miss Jim and Mr. Bessie were the dictators of all the black bears and the friends of all the men; of all the men, save one,—he could not refrain from teasing. Months passed; the little grizzlies increased in strength. The teasing continued. One day a visiting surgeon set three ribs and an arm.

“Except for this research into human anatomy, nothing untoward happened until the end of four years. Meanwhile the two grizzlies had, at all times, come and gone at will into and out of the ranch house; had, whenever they desired, tidbits supplemental to their food; attended the ranch meals, perched in orderly fashion on a bench at the foot of the dining-table; and, after the first six months, made any excursion they wished, being absent from the ranch sometimes for several successive days, going thus either alone or as the companions of whatever man might have occasion to travel across country. These trips not infrequently made them adjuncts of a fishing-party, and on such occasions they were always content with their toll of the first four fish caught—two fish for each bear.

“No attempt was ever made to exact from the bears the performance of tricks. They were treated from the outset in the same manner as one would treat a well-trained hunting hound, save that special care was taken that they should be fed before approaching either the men’s dining-table in the ranch house or the lunching group of a fishing-party. On their bench at the foot of the dining-table, they never were indecorous, never snatched at any food, but would sit in dignified silence until called by name. Upon the sound of its name, the invited bear would lumber down to the floor, shuffle along to the chair of the inviter, and, having been given and somewhat gently received, the promised confection, would promptly return to its seat. It is true that the returning bear would not infrequently in passing, give playful, if vigorous, pokes into the bodies of its fellows, but none of the blows were aimed at or reached a human being.

“The grizzlies were true companions, for they had all the affectionate faithfulness of the best of dogs, intelligence far beyond that of any horse, and endless sense of humor. As to intelligence, they repeatedly used their brains in a manner which perhaps is best exemplified by the following instance of another grizzly which I watched years ago: An animal which, discovering a half-filled food-can, and prevented by the semi-closed lid from touching the contents, takes a stone between its paws and smashes the lid, has claim to brains, even if that animal be only a bear.

“I have said that nothing untoward happened during the four years. On second thought, an untoward event did occur. One November, a quantity of freshly preserved blueberries had been obtained from the East. These berries were transformed into twenty-four large deep-dish pies, one for each man on the ranch. On the date of the anticipated feast, an entertainment at a neighboring camp depopulated the house, but did not degrizzly its environs. In the early evening of that day, the house was approached by a file of men, pie-bent, expectant, joyous. Two house logs pulled from without doors, bear-tracks done upon the snow in vivid blue, forewarned that twenty-four pies had passed into history.

“At the end of the four years, Miss Jim fell victim to poison, whether set for her or for wolves we never knew. Presently Mr. Bessie was once more teased, this time by a visiting ranchman. After the ranchman had been reassembled and revived, it was decided that the bear must be done for. He should not be killed. That smacked of murder. He should not be caged in a zoÖlogical garden. He had not sinned according to bear law. Accordingly it was agreed that he should be lost. He was led two hundred miles from the ranch and bidden to go his way. His return to the ranch preceded that of his keeper by eight hours. He was led to the mountains of Idaho, and the duration of his return journey not improbably is still the minimum record for that course. Finally two admirers conducted him to Oregon and there parted with him forever. The last view disclosed a cheerful expression as he contemplated two hams tied to a tree, partly for purposes of strategy and partly as a parting gift.”

A real acquaintance with the grizzly bear appears to fill every one with admiration for him. Mr. William H. Wright, quoted elsewhere in this book, understood the grizzly thoroughly. His comprehensive book, “The Grizzly Bear,” is dedicated with these words:—

“WITH THE RESPECT, ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION
OF THE AUTHOR,
TO THE NOBLEST WILD ANIMAL OF NORTH AMERICA,
THE GRIZZLY BEAR.”

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