Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1898-04-14

hunters, who followed game clear to
the Canadian frontier. Jim, the young
est, was the best known. He killed the
last elk ever seen in that state, and is
credited with bringing into Byers trad
ing post, on the Allegheny, the skins of
forty-one full-lrown bears, all taken
In one winters hunt.
In 1863 he was guiding a party of
gentlemen from New York, among
whom was the late Roscoe Conkling,
through the wilds of Elk county. A
camp was made on the head waters of
the Clarion, and the party made prep
arations to hunt for deer the next day.
Jacobs had been ranging around the
camp and came in late. He was more
than usually silent and sullen. After a
time passed in smoking he startled the
others by declaring that he intended
leaving them at once, and gave direc-
lions to find McCartys trading post,
three miles down river, where another
guide would be had. After some ques-
tioning as to his sudden resolution, he
explained she had seen big white
| wolf, and it was bad medicine for In
juns," so, gathering up his traps and
calling his two dogs, he disappeared
in the darkness of the woods.
Next morning McCarty's post was
found without any difficulty, and the
party Hospitality received. They told
their story, and McCarty, man of 65,
who had passed his life on the from
tier, said: $50 Jim seed the white wolf
again. I've heard of the varmint fifty
years ago, but never seed it, nor do I
know of any white man who has, but
Jim has, no doubt, for he amt liar
or boaster, and all the Injuns think it
bad luck. They are full of notions.
Why, do you know, if they miss a good
shot they think their guns bewitched
and the barrel made crooked, so they
will spend day huntin' certain YARDS,
take the gun apart, load the barrel, and
then drive down these YARDS till it's
full, then stick the breech in the fire
and the charge goes off. The barrel is
all right, and they can shoot as we'll as
ever. Of course, all timber wolves is
more or less white, specially the old
ones, but one plum white 1 never see
and don't expect to-"
Twenty miles east of McCarty's, on
Beaver Creek, lived Rush Kemble. He
was hunter and trapper, cultivating
enough land to raise corn for the fam.
lily. He had small flock of sheep thai
he had succeeded in raising, although
bear and panthers were plenty in the
country around. But his luck changed
The sheep began to disappear. He sci
traps; watched at night, while his so1
secuted around with his powerful beal
dogs It was no use; the sheep were
taken. One day he found on the sof
mud on the bank Of the creek a mum
Der of tracks, Enthusiastically a wolf.
One day In September while he wa:
absent from. home his daughter Rutl
was feeding their one pig. Suddenly
she saw the chickens scampering fol
the barn, while behind was an ANNA
like an enormous dog, gaunt, covered
with rough hair and pure white il
color. 1t had caught chicken and wa!
devouring it. Full of terror she rushed
into the house. Catching up rifle ane
calling the house-dog she crept arount
the cabin. The wolf had caught anoth
er chicken. The dog was an old bea1
hound, and game. He rushed on thu
beast, while Ruth, resting the gun OF
one of the projecting logs of the cabin
took long aim and fired. The vol
gave a leap in the air and came dow1
plump on the dog. In an instant thu
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