



Produced by Dagny; John Bickers





HUNTING THE GRISLY AND OTHER SKETCHES

by Theodore Roosevelt



     PREPARER'S NOTE

     This text was prepared from a 1902 edition, published by G. P.
     Putnam's Sons, New York and London. It was originally published in
     1893. It is part II of "The Wilderness Hunter."


An Account of the Big Game of the United

States and its Chase with Horse

Hound, and Rifle




CHAPTER I.--THE BISON OR AMERICAN BUFFALO.

When we became a nation in 1776, the buffaloes, the first animals
to vanish when the wilderness is settled, roved to the crests of the
mountains which mark the western boundaries of Pennsylvania, Virginia,
and the Carolinas. They were plentiful in what are now the States of
Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. But by the beginning of the present
century they had been driven beyond the Mississippi; and for the next
eighty years they formed one of the most distinctive and characteristic
features of existence on the great plains. Their numbers were
countless--incredible. In vast herds of hundreds of thousands of
individuals, they roamed from the Saskatchewan to the Rio Grande
and westward to the Rocky Mountains. They furnished all the means of
livelihood to the tribes of Horse Indians, and to the curious population
of French Metis, or Half-breeds, on the Red River, as well as to those
dauntless and archtypical wanderers, the white hunters and trappers.
Their numbers slowly diminished, but the decrease was very gradual until
after the Civil War. They were not destroyed by the settlers, but by the
railways and the skin hunters.

After the ending of the Civil War, the work of constructing
trans-continental railway lines was pushed forward with the utmost
vigor. These supplied cheap and indispensable, but hitherto wholly
lacking, means of transportation to the hunters; and at the same time
the demand for buffalo robes and hides became very great, while the
enormous numbers of the beasts, and the comparative ease with which they
were slaughtered, attracted throngs of adventurers. The result was such
a slaughter of big game as the world had never before seen; never before
were so many large animals of one species destroyed in so short a time.
Several million buffaloes were slain. In fifteen years from the time
the destruction fairly began the great herds were exterminated. In
all probability there are not now, all told, five hundred head of
wild buffaloes on the American continent; and no herd of a hundred
individuals has been in existence since 1884.

The first great break followed the building of the Union Pacific
Railway. All the buffaloes of the middle region were then destroyed, and
the others were split into two vast sets of herds, the northern and the
southern. The latter were destroyed first, about 1878; the former not
until 1883. My own chief experience with buffaloes was obtained in the
latter year, among small bands and scattered individuals, near my ranch
on the Little Missouri; I have related it elsewhere. But two of my
kinsmen were more fortunate, and took part in the chase of these lordly
beasts when the herds still darkened the prairie as far as the eye could
see.

During the first two months of 1877, my brother Elliott, then a lad not
seventeen years old, made a buffalo-hunt toward the edge of the Staked
Plains in Northern Texas. He was thus in at the death of the southern
herds; for all, save a few scattering bands, were destroyed within two
years of this time. He was with my cousin, John Roosevelt, and they went
out on the range with six other adventurers. It was a party of just such
young men as frequently drift to the frontier. All were short of
cash, and all were hardy, vigorous fellows, eager for excitement and
adventure. My brother was much the youngest of the party, and the least
experienced; but he was well-grown, strong and healthy, and very fond
of boxing, wrestling, running, riding, and shooting; moreover, he had
served an apprenticeship in hunting deer and turkeys. Their mess-kit,
ammunition, bedding, and provisions were carried in two prairie-wagons,
each drawn by four horse. In addition to the teams they had six
saddle-animals--all of them shaggy, unkempt mustangs. Three or four
dogs, setters and half-bred greyhounds, trotted along behind the wagons.
Each man took his turn for two days as teamster and cook; and there were
always two with the wagons, or camp, as the case might be, while the
other six were off hunting, usually in couples. The expedition was
undertaken partly for sport and partly with the hope of profit; for,
after purchasing the horses and wagons, none of the party had any money
left, and they were forced to rely upon selling skins and hides, and,
when near the forts, meat.

They started on January 2nd, and shaped their course for the head-waters
of the Salt Fork of the Brazos, the centre of abundance for the great
buffalo herds. During the first few days they were in the outskirts of
the settled country, and shot only small game--quail and prairie fowl;
then they began to kill turkey, deer, and antelope. These they swapped
for flour and feed at the ranches or squalid, straggling frontier towns.
On several occasions the hunters were lost, spending the night out
in the open, or sleeping at a ranch, if one was found. Both towns and
ranches were filled with rough customers; all of my brother's companions
were muscular, hot-headed fellows; and as a consequence they were
involved in several savage free fights, in which, fortunately, nobody
was seriously hurt. My brother kept a very brief diary, the entries
being fairly startling from their conciseness. A number of times, the
mention of their arrival, either at a halting-place, a little village,
or a rival buffalo-camp is followed by the laconic remark, "big fight,"
or "big row"; but once they evidently concluded discretion to be
the better part of valor, the entry for January 20th being, "On the
road--passed through Belknap--too lively, so kept on to the Brazos--very
late." The buffalo-camps in particular were very jealous of one another,
each party regarding itself as having exclusive right to the range it
was the first to find; and on several occasions this feeling came near
involving my brother and his companions in serious trouble.

While slowly driving the heavy wagons to the hunting grounds they
suffered the usual hardships of plains travel. The weather, as in most
Texas winters, alternated between the extremes of heat and cold. There
had been little rain; in consequence water was scarce. Twice they were
forced to cross wild, barren wastes, where the pools had dried up, and
they suffered terribly from thirst. On the first occasion the horses
were in good condition, and they travelled steadily, with only
occasional short halts, for over thirty-six hours, by which time they
were across the waterless country. The journal reads: "January 27th--Big
hunt--no water, and we left Quinn's blockhouse this morning 3 A.M.--on
the go all night--hot. January 28--No water--hot--at seven we struck
water, and by eight Stinking Creek--grand 'hurrah.'" On the second
occasion, the horses were weak and travelled slowly, so the party went
forty-eight hours without drinking. "February 19th--Pulled on twenty-one
miles--trail bad--freezing night, no water, and wolves after our fresh
meat. 20--Made nineteen miles over prairie; again only mud, no water,
freezing hard--frightful thirst. 21st--Thirty miles to Clear Fork, fresh
water." These entries were hurriedly jotted down at the time, by a
boy who deemed it unmanly to make any especial note of hardship or
suffering; but every plainsman will understand the real agony implied
in working hard for two nights, one day, and portions of two others,
without water, even in cool weather. During the last few miles the
staggering horses were only just able to drag the lightly loaded
wagon,--for they had but one with them at the time,--while the men
plodded along in sullen silence, their mouths so parched that they could
hardly utter a word. My own hunting and ranching were done in the north
where there is more water; so I have never had a similar experience.
Once I took a team in thirty-six hours across a country where there was
no water; but by good luck it rained heavily in the night, so that the
horses had plenty of wet grass, and I caught the rain in my slicker, and
so had enough water for myself. Personally, I have but once been as long
as twenty-six hours without water.

The party pitched their permanent camp in a canyon of the Brazos known
as Canyon Blanco. The last few days of their journey they travelled
beside the river through a veritable hunter's paradise. The drought
had forced all the animals to come to the larger water-courses, and the
country was literally swarming with game. Every day, and all day long,
the wagons travelled through the herds of antelopes that grazed on every
side, while, whenever they approached the canyon brink, bands of deer
started from the timber that fringed the river's course; often, even
the deer wandered out on the prairie with the antelope. Nor was the game
shy; for the hunters, both red and white, followed only the buffaloes,
until the huge, shaggy herds were destroyed, and the smaller beasts were
in consequence but little molested.

Once my brother shot five antelopes from a single stand, when the party
were short of fresh venison; he was out of sight and to leeward, and the
antelopes seemed confused rather than alarmed at the rifle-reports and
the fall of their companions. As was to be expected where game was so
plenty, wolves and coyotes also abounded. At night they surrounded the
camp, wailing and howling in a kind of shrieking chorus throughout the
hours of darkness; one night they came up so close that the frightened
horses had to be hobbled and guarded. On another occasion a large wolf
actually crept into camp, where he was seized by the dogs, and the
yelling, writhing knot of combatants rolled over one of the sleepers;
finally, the long-toothed prowler managed to shake himself loose, and
vanished in the gloom. One evening they were almost as much startled
by a visit of a different kind. They were just finishing supper when an
Indian stalked suddenly and silently out of the surrounding darkness,
squatted down in the circle of firelight, remarked gravely, "Me Tonk,"
and began helping himself from the stew. He belonged to the friendly
tribe of Tonkaways, so his hosts speedily recovered their equanimity;
as for him, he had never lost his, and he sat eating by the fire
until there was literally nothing left to eat. The panic caused by his
appearance was natural; for at that time the Comanches were a scourge to
the Buffalo-hunters, ambushing them and raiding their camps; and several
bloody fights had taken place.

Their camp had been pitched near a deep pool or water-hole. On both
sides the bluffs rose like walls, and where they had crumbled and lost
their sheerness, the vast buffalo herds, passing and repassing for
countless generations, had worn furrowed trails so deep that the backs
of the beasts were but little above the surrounding soil. In the
bottom, and in places along the crests of the cliffs that hemmed in
the canyon-like valley, there were groves of tangled trees, tenanted by
great flocks of wild turkeys. Once my brother made two really remarkable
shots at a pair of these great birds. It was at dusk, and they were
flying directly overhead from one cliff to the other. He had in his hand
a thirty-eight calibre Ballard rifle, and, as the gobblers winged their
way heavily by, he brought both down with two successive bullets. This
was of course mainly a piece of mere luck; but it meant good shooting,
too. The Ballard was a very accurate, handy little weapon; it belonged
to me, and was the first rifle I ever owned or used. With it I had once
killed a deer, the only specimen of large game I had then shot; and I
presented the rifle to my brother when he went to Texas. In our happy
ignorance we deemed it quite good enough for Buffalo or anything else;
but out on the plains my brother soon found himself forced to procure a
heavier and more deadly weapon.

When camp was pitched the horses were turned loose to graze and refresh
themselves after their trying journey, during which they had lost flesh
woefully. They were watched and tended by the two men who were always
left in camp, and, save on rare occasions, were only used to haul in the
buffalo hides. The camp-guards for the time being acted as cooks; and,
though coffee and flour both ran short and finally gave out, fresh meat
of every kind was abundant. The camp was never without buffalo-beef,
deer and antelope venison, wild turkeys, prairie-chickens, quails,
ducks, and rabbits. The birds were simply "potted," as occasion
required; when the quarry was deer or antelope, the hunters took the
dogs with them to run down the wounded animals. But almost the entire
attention of the hunters was given to the buffalo. After an evening
spent in lounging round the campfire and a sound night's sleep, wrapped
in robes and blankets, they would get up before daybreak, snatch a
hurried breakfast, and start off in couples through the chilly dawn. The
great beasts were very plentiful; in the first day's hunt twenty were
slain; but the herds were restless and ever on the move. Sometimes they
would be seen right by the camp, and again it would need an all-day's
tramp to find them. There was no difficulty in spying them--the chief
trouble with forest game; for on the prairie a buffalo makes no effort
to hide and its black, shaggy bulk looms up as far as the eye can see.
Sometimes they were found in small parties of three or four individuals,
sometimes in bands of about two hundred, and again in great herds of
many thousands; and solitary old bulls, expelled from the herds, were
common. If on broken land, among the hills and ravines, there was not
much difficulty in approaching from the leeward; for, though the
sense of smell in the buffalo is very acute, they do not see well at a
distance through their overhanging frontlets of coarse and matted
hair. If, as was generally the case, they were out in the open, rolling
prairie, the stalking was far more difficult. Every hollow, every
earth hummock and sagebush had to be used as cover. The hunter wriggled
through the grass flat on his face, pushing himself along for perhaps a
quarter of a mile by his toes and fingers, heedless of the spiny cactus.
When near enough to the huge, unconscious quarry the hunter began
firing, still keeping himself carefully concealed. If the smoke was
blown away by the wind, and if the buffaloes caught no glimpse of the
assailant, they would often stand motionless and stupid until many of
their number had been slain, the hunter being careful not to fire too
high, aiming just behind the shoulder, about a third of the way up the
body, that his bullet might go through the lungs. Sometimes, even
after they saw the man, they would act as if confused and panic-struck,
huddling together and staring at the smoke puffs; but generally they
were off at a lumbering gallop as soon as they had an idea of the point
of danger. When once started, they ran for many miles before halting,
and their pursuit on foot was extremely laborious.

One morning my cousin and brother had been left in camp as guards. They
were sitting idly warming themselves in the first sunbeams, when their
attention was sharply drawn to four buffaloes that were coming to the
pool to drink. The beasts came down a game trail, a deep rut in the
bluff, fronting where they were sitting, and they did not dare to stir
for fear of being discovered. The buffaloes walked into the pool, and
after drinking their fill, stood for some time with the water running
out of their mouths, idly lashing their sides with their short tails,
enjoying the bright warmth of the early sunshine; then, with much
splashing and the gurgling of soft mud, they left the pool and clambered
up the bluff with unwieldy agility. As soon as they turned, my brother
and cousin ran for their rifles, but before they got back the buffaloes
had crossed the bluff crest. Climbing after them, the two hunters found,
when they reached the summit, that their game, instead of halting,
had struck straight off across the prairie at a slow lope, doubtless
intending to rejoin the herd they had left. After a moment's
consultation the men went in pursuit, excitement overcoming their
knowledge that they ought not, by rights, to leave camp. They struck
a steady trot, following the animals by sight until they passed over a
knoll, and then trailing them. Where the grass was long, as it was for
the first four or five miles, this was a work of no difficulty, and they
did not break their gait, only glancing now and then at the trial. As
the sun rose and the day became warm, their breathing grew quicker; and
the sweat rolled off their faces as they ran across the rough prairie
sward, up and down the long inclines, now and then shifting their heavy
rifles from one shoulder to the other. But they were in good training,
and they did not have to halt. At last they reached stretches of bare
ground, sun-baked and grassless, where the trail grew dim; and here they
had to go very slowly, carefully examining the faint dents and marks
made in the soil by the heavy hoofs, and unravelling the trail from
the mass of old footmarks. It was tedious work, but it enabled them to
completely recover their breath by the time that they again struck
the grassland; and but a few hundred yards from the edge, in a slight
hollow, they saw the four buffaloes just entering a herd of fifty or
sixty that were scattered out grazing. The herd paid no attention to
the new-comers, and these immediately began to feed greedily. After
a whispered consultation, the two hunters crept back, and made a long
circle that brought them well to leeward of the herd, in line with
a slight rise in the ground. They then crawled up to this rise and,
peering through the tufts of tall, rank grass, saw the unconscious
beasts a hundred and twenty-five or fifty yards away. They fired
together, each mortally wounding his animal, and then, rushing in as
the herd halted in confusion, and following them as they ran, impeded by
numbers, hurry, and panic, they eventually got three more.

On another occasion the same two hunters nearly met with a frightful
death, being overtaken by a vast herd of stampeded buffaloes. All the
animals that go in herds are subject to these instantaneous attacks
of uncontrollable terror, under the influence of which they become
perfectly mad, and rush headlong in dense masses on any form of death.
Horses, and more especially cattle, often suffer from stampedes; it is
a danger against which the cowboys are compelled to be perpetually on
guard. A band of stampeded horses, sweeping in mad terror up a valley,
will dash against a rock or tree with such violence as to leave several
dead animals at its base, while the survivors race on without halting;
they will overturn and destroy tents and wagons, and a man on foot
caught in the rush has but a small chance for his life. A buffalo
stampede is much worse--or rather was much worse, in the old
days--because of the great weight and immense numbers of the beasts,
which, in a fury of heedless terror, plunged over cliffs and into
rivers, and bore down whatever was in their path. On the occasion in
question, my brother and cousin were on their way homeward. They were
just mounting one of the long, low swells, into which the prairie was
broken, when they heard a low, muttering, rumbling noise, like far-off
thunder. It grew steadily louder, and, not knowing what it meant, they
hurried forward to the top of the rise. As they reached it, they stopped
short in terror and amazement, for before them the whole prairie was
black with madly rushing buffaloes.

Afterward they learned that another couple of hunters, four or five
miles off, had fired into and stampeded a large herd. This herd, in its
rush, gathered others, all thundering along together in uncontrollable
and increasing panic.

The surprised hunters were far away from any broken ground or other
place of refuge, while the vast herd of huge, plunging, maddened beasts
was charging straight down on them not a quarter of a mile distant. Down
they came!--thousands upon thousands, their front extending a mile in
breadth, while the earth shook beneath their thunderous gallop, and,
as they came closer, their shaggy frontlets loomed dimly through the
columns of dust thrown up from the dry soil. The two hunters knew that
their only hope for life was to split the herd, which, though it had so
broad a front, was not very deep. If they failed they would inevitably
be trampled to death.

Waiting until the beasts were in close range, they opened a rapid fire
from their heavy breech-loading rifles, yelling at the top of their
voices. For a moment the result seemed doubtful. The line thundered
steadily down on them; then it swayed violently, as two or three of
the brutes immediately in front fell beneath the bullets, while their
neighbors made violent efforts to press off sideways. Then a narrow
wedge-shaped rift appeared in the line, and widened as it came
closer, and the buffaloes, shrinking from their foes in front, strove
desperately to edge away from the dangerous neighborhood; the shouts
and shots were redoubled; the hunters were almost choked by the cloud
of dust, through which they could see the stream of dark huge bodies
passing within rifle-length on either side; and in a moment the peril
was over, and the two men were left alone on the plain, unharmed, though
with their nerves terribly shaken. The herd careered on toward the
horizon, save five individuals which had been killed or disabled by the
shots.

On another occasion, when my brother was out with one of his friends,
they fired at a small herd containing an old bull; the bull charged
the smoke, and the whole herd followed him. Probably they were simply
stampeded, and had no hostile intention; at any rate, after the death of
their leader, they rushed by without doing any damage.

But buffaloes sometimes charged with the utmost determination, and were
then dangerous antagonists. My cousin, a very hardy and resolute hunter,
had a narrow escape from a wounded cow which he had followed up a steep
bluff or sand cliff. Just as he reached the summit, he was charged, and
was only saved by the sudden appearance of his dog, which distracted the
cow's attention. He thus escaped with only a tumble and a few bruises.

My brother also came in for a charge, while killing the biggest bull
that was slain by any of the party. He was out alone, and saw a small
herd of cows and calves at some distance, with a huge bull among them,
towering above them like a giant. There was no break in the ground, nor
any tree nor bush near them, but, by making a half-circle, my brother
managed to creep up against the wind behind a slight roll in the prairie
surface, until he was within seventy-five yards of the grazing and
unconscious beasts. There were some cows and calves between him and the
bull, and he had to wait some moments before they shifted position, as
the herd grazed onward and gave him a fair shot; in the interval they
had moved so far forward that he was in plain view. His first bullet
struck just behind the shoulders; the herd started and looked around,
but the bull merely lifted his head and took a step forward, his tail
curled up over his back. The next bullet likewise struck fair, nearly in
the same place, telling with a loud "pack!" against the thick hide, and
making the dust fly up from the matted hair. Instantly the great bull
wheeled and charged in headlong anger, while the herd fled in the
opposite direction. On the bare prairie, with no spot of refuge, it was
useless to try to escape, and the hunter, with reloaded rifle, waited
until the bull was not far off, then drew up his weapon and fired.
Either he was nervous, or the bull at the moment bounded over some
obstacle, for the bullet went a little wild; nevertheless, by good luck,
it broke a fore-leg, and the great beast came crashing to the earth, and
was slain before it could struggle to its feet.

Two days after this even, a war party of Comanches swept down along the
river. They "jumped" a neighboring camp, killing one man and wounding
two more, and at the same time ran off all but three of the horses
belonging to our eight adventurers. With the remaining three horses and
one wagon they set out homeward. The march was hard and tedious; they
lost their way and were in jeopardy from quicksands and cloudbursts;
they suffered from thirst and cold, their shoes gave out, and their
feet were lamed by cactus spines. At last they reached Fort Griffen in
safety, and great was their ravenous rejoicing when they procured some
bread--for during the final fortnight of the hunt they had been without
flour or vegetables of any kind, or even coffee, and had subsisted on
fresh meat "straight." Nevertheless, it was a very healthy, as well as
a very pleasant and exciting experience; and I doubt if any of those who
took part in it will ever forget their great buffalo-hunt on the Brazos.

My friend, Gen. W. H. Walker, of Virginia, had an experience in the
early '50's with buffaloes on the upper Arkansas River, which gives
some idea of their enormous numbers at that time. He was camped with
a scouting party on the banks of the river, and had gone out to try
to shoot some meat. There were many buffaloes in sight, scattered,
according to their custom, in large bands. When he was a mile or two
away from the river a dull roaring sound in the distance attracted his
attention, and he saw that a herd of buffalo far to the south, away from
the river, had been stampeded and was running his way. He knew that
if he was caught in the open by the stampeded herd his chance for life
would be small, and at once ran for the river. By desperate efforts
he reached the breaks in the sheer banks just as the buffaloes reached
them, and got into a position of safety on the pinnacle of a little
bluff. From this point of vantage he could see the entire plain. To the
very verge of the horizon the brown masses of the buffalo bands showed
through the dust clouds, coming on with a thunderous roar like that of
surf. Camp was a mile away, and the stampede luckily passed to one side
of it. Watching his chance he finally dodged back to the tent, and all
that afternoon watched the immense masses of buffalo, as band after band
tore to the brink of the bluffs on one side, raced down them, rushed
through the water, up the bluffs on the other side, and again off over
the plain, churning the sandy, shallow stream into a ceaseless tumult.
When darkness fell there was no apparent decrease in the numbers that
were passing, and all through that night the continuous roar showed that
the herds were still threshing across the river. Towards dawn the sound
at last ceased, and General Walker arose somewhat irritated, as he had
reckoned on killing an ample supply of meat, and he supposed that there
would be now no bison left south of the river. To his astonishment, when
he strolled up on the bluffs and looked over the plain, it was still
covered far and wide with groups of buffalo, grazing quietly. Apparently
there were as many on that side as ever, in spite of the many scores of
thousands that must have crossed over the river during the stampede of
the afternoon and night. The barren-ground caribou is the only American
animal which is now ever seen in such enormous herds.

In 1862 Mr. Clarence King, while riding along the overland trail through
western Kansas, passed through a great buffalo herd, and was himself
injured in an encounter with a bull. The great herd was then passing
north, and Mr. King reckoned that it must have covered an area nearly
seventy miles by thirty in extent; the figures representing his rough
guess, made after travelling through the herd crosswise, and upon
knowing how long it took to pass a given point going northward. This
great herd of course was not a solid mass of buffaloes; it consisted of
innumerable bands of every size, dotting the prairie within the limits
given. Mr. King was mounted on a somewhat unmanageable horse. On one
occasion in following a band he wounded a large bull, and became so
wedged in by the maddened animals that he was unable to avoid the charge
of the bull, which was at its last gasp. Coming straight toward him it
leaped into the air and struck the afterpart of the saddle full with its
massive forehead. The horse was hurled to the ground with a broken back,
and King's leg was likewise broken, while the bull turned a complete
somerset over them and never rose again.

In the recesses of the Rocky Mountains, from Colorado northward
through Alberta, and in the depths of the subarctic forest beyond the
Saskatchewan, there have always been found small numbers of the bison,
locally called the mountain buffalo and wood buffalo; often indeed the
old hunters term these animals "bison," although they never speak of the
plains animals save as buffalo. They form a slight variety of what was
formerly the ordinary plains bison, intergrading with it; on the whole
they are darker in color, with longer, thicker hair, and in consequence
with the appearance of being heavier-bodied and shorter-legged. They
have been sometimes spoken of as forming a separate species; but,
judging from my own limited experience, and from a comparison of the
many hides I have seen, I think they are really the same animal,
many individuals of the two so-called varieties being quite
indistinguishable. In fact, the only moderate-sized herd of wild bison
in existence to-day, the protected herd in the Yellowstone Park, is
composed of animals intermediate in habits and coat between the mountain
and plains varieties--as were all the herds of the Bighorn, Big Hole,
Upper Madison, and Upper Yellowstone valleys.

However, the habitat of these wood and mountain bison yielded them
shelter from hunters in a way that the plains never could, and hence
they have always been harder to kill in the one place than in the other;
for precisely the same reasons that have held good with the elk, which
have been completely exterminated from the plains, while still abundant
in many of the forest fastnesses of the Rockies. Moreover, the bison's
dull eyesight is no special harm in the woods, while it is peculiar