, 1905-11-16
The Passing Of a King
BY Dave A. Martin.

1t was in the fall OF 1871 that an
Irish trapper named MCCARTHY dropped
over the continental divide into the
game paradise, in northwestern Wyom-
ing, known as Jackson's Hole. Why
the place was called Jackson's Hole,
tradition fails to relate,-elk elysium
would have been more appropriate.
Here the autlered herds revel knee
deep in the vast reaches of nutritious
grass. Mountain sheep nibble the ten
der heritage growing from the cracks
among the inaccessible crags. Bears
lumber clumsily among the underbrush
of the forest and fill to safety upon the
succulent berries. Ages and ages ag'
centuries before McCarthy's time-in
fact, about the time thatGod created that
other Eden for primordial humanity,
this one, known as Jack sons Hole, was
set aside as the Diety's gift to the
beasts. But Mccarthy rocked little of
this. His being was too thoroughly
saturated with prosaicism for him to
peer through the eye of nature into the
orb of God. His every instinct was
sordidly commercial. He saw nothing
in this animal mecca but countless
pelts at SO many dollars per pelt. He
was learned in woodcraft; he could de-
termine the cardinal points of the COM
pass on a cloudy day, in the heart of
the virgin Wilderness. He could call
the un%suspecting moose almost to the
muzzel OF his gun. He could trap the
most wiley wolf, and snare the wariest
bird. But there was one brute in Jack
sons Hole that Mccarthy could not
trap or shoot. He craved a single look
at that pelt over the sights of his Win
chester, even as Jacob longed after
Rachel. But Mccarthy longed in vain.
On the fourth day of his coming into
the Hole, Mccarthy slung his gun
across his shoulder and started to visit
his traps. He found the bear trap
sprung; the bait, a hind-quarter of VEN
ison, gone, and, dangling between the
jaws of the trap, a mangled, bloody toe
of the departed bruin.
There had been a light fall of snow
during the night and the telltale
sPAotSbOo vi tiO
snow showed plainly which way his
bearship had departed. The distance
between streaks was evidence that he
had not sauntered off.
AS the market quotations or bear
pelts at this particular time were a
trihe in excess of thirty dollars, and
Macs available assets at this pacticu-
lar time being somewhat less than
thirty cents, he determined to bag the
bear.
The trail skirted the south fork of
the Buffalo fork of Snake river for sew
eral miles, then angled of into a. will.
derness of jack pine and underbrush
that ran up to meet the hills.
The bear was in distress. Several
tim es he had planted his launches in
the snow, evidently to lick his wound
ed foot, which treatment must have
afforded some relief, for after each
stop The imprint of the bloody paw, for
a while, made a deeper impression in
the snow. Once he had paused long
enough in his flight to roll a wind.fall
from it's bed and indulge in a hurried
meal of ants.
For two days Mccarthy followed the
tracks. Then he sat down on the edge
of a flat rock to rest. A million fairies
from the land of Nod were Juggling and
straining at his eyelashes. His head
sank slowly upon his breast: his gun
dropped unheeded to the ground.
When he awoke the western sun was
shining full in his face, the snow had
disappeared, the pear tracks had van
ished, and Macs vision of thirty dol
lars had gone glimmering.
This happened fifteen years ago.
The bear known as 'Four Toes'', since
his memorable encounter with Nc
Carthy's trap, has ranged over the
Jackson Hole country, al ursine an
chorite, for almost q decade. Every
year enthusiastic nimrods have hunted
the monster grizzly, but without sue
cess.
What Mccarthy attempted fifteen
years ago, Fred w. Chase, q local taxi
dermist and hunters guide, in company
with Robert Livermore, of Cripple
Creek, Colo, accomplished last week.
Almost covering n of the walls in
Mr.. Chase's workroom is stretched the
fur of the great %silver-tip "Four Toes"
How Mr.. Chase killed this king of
grizzlies is told in his own words.
"You didn't meet Livermore, did
you?" [ shook my head. swell, l
like t. hunt with him, he's pure grit
all the way through"
You see we started out to hunt elk,
and didn't expect to run onto anything