One of our local historical “legends” was a man named “Bear George” McClellan. He lived not far from my house which means in his written stories, I can recognize many of the places he talks about. I have copies of some of the articles he wrote for popular magazines of his day. Some stories seem to have been bound together in some sort of book owned by Mrs. J. H. Tully, of another local pioneering family. Since Bear George died 88 years ago, I believe these stories are all out in the public domain since the 75 year limit has been reached. If you are sensitive to the wording of the days in which he lived, or if you do not care for hunting stories, or if you don’t appreciate a wry story teller, you may want to avoid these tales of Wyoming in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. It was still a wild and wooly place and Bear George led an adventurous life. Please, let me introduce Bear George McClellan.
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We have 9 greyhounds and stag hounds that I thought were not afraid of the old boy himself. I struck out on the trail alone and endeavored to make up for lost time. After crossing 2 more canyons I was following along up a little water course when I came across 2 more bear tracks, and as it was thawing fast, and the snow soft, I could not tell what size they were but they seemed to have met there by appointment and had all jogged along together, I began to think it was not a bad day for bear, and followed on over the ridge into the next canyon, which was a long ways.
Here the bear had gone down through the edge of an aspen thicket into a steep rough canyon, the North wall of which was covered with a dense growth of pine timber. Among the big trees were plenty of dead timber and green jack pines.
The bear went into these jacks, and I stopped there to consider the chances of jumping the bear in that place. Finally I concluded I had better wait until the man with the dogs came up. I was tired and hungry and the fun did not seem so brisk as it did where I could have a clear view of the trail several rods ahead.
I sat down on a rock to rest and thought of going back to the ranch to get the dogs and some of the other hunters. There were two other men out – Governor Richards and some of the other boys from the ranch – and I knew they were both bear hungry. I had not finished resting when I heard a noise, and looking up saw Doll, one of the cow punchers, coming tearing along with all the dogs. This sight instantly revived my interest in the sport. I jumped up and waved my hat. Doll rode up and in a minute I was surrounded by all the hounds, who seemed to know something unusual was up.
The first question I asked Doll was, “Did you bring me anything to eat?”
“No,” said he: “I was in such a hurry to get to you with the dogs I never thought of grub.”
“All right,” said I: “a bear hunter ought not to think of eating anyway. It is getting late, and if we expect to see the end of this trail today we must be moving. Come, pups: if I were to make a guess now, Mr. Bear, I would guess you would smell brimstone before sundown.”
I took the dogs and followed the trail through the thick timber. Doll taking his horse around and meeting me wherever the chance offered. Then I would ride the horse and follow the trail on to the next thicket, then dismount, tie the horse and follow the trail on foot. Doll would come up, mount the horse and ride around and meet me on the other side. In this way we made good time.
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He is quite the story teller…
This is like a shaggy dog story — it just goes on and on. but don’t stop!!!