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This itam is filmad at tha raduction ratio chackad balow/ Ca documant ast filmi au taux da reduction indiqu* ci-dassous. 10X 14X 18X 22X XX / 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X I itailt I du odifi«r ' un« mag* Tha copy filmad hara has baan raproducad thanka to tha ganarotity of: University of British Columbia Library Tha imagaa appaaring hara ara tha baat quality poaaibia conaidaring tha condition and lagibility of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha filming contract apacifications. Original coplas in printad papar covara ara filmad baginning with tha front covar and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- aion. or tha back covar whan appropriata. All othar original copiaa ara filmad baginning on tha firat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- aion. and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraaaion. Tha laat racordad frama on aach microficha ahall contain tha aymbol -^ (moaning "CON- TINUED"), or tha aymbol V (moaning "END'I. whichavar appliaa. 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Thosa too larga to ba antiraly includad in ona axposura ara filmad baginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar. laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framaa as raquirad. Tha following diagrama illustrata tha mathod: Las cartas, planchas. tableaux, ate. peuvant Atra filmAa A daa taux da reduction diffArants. Loraqua la document ast trop grand pour Atra raproduit 9n un saul clichA, il ast film* A partir da I'angla supAriaur gaucha. da gauche A droita. at de haut en bas. en prenant la nombre d'images nAcessaire. Las diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. rrata to palure. □ 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 o to 3 O o o Eh li i I o bo 3 O i CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST THE STORY OF FOURTEEN EXPEDITIONS AFTER NORTH AMERICAN MAMMALS, FROM THE FIELD NOTES OF LEWIS LINDSAY DYCHE, A.M., M.S., l>ROFE.SSOR OF ZOOLOGY AND CURATOR OF BIRDS AND MAMMALS IN THE KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY '''Wit' CLARENCE E. EDWORDS ILLUSTRATED 1r LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY (LIMITED) ST. dunstan's house, fettek lane, fleet street, E. C. 1893 a fiUNTED IN America. Copyrlfbl, IM*. Br 0. Appl' amp' 'ompanious— A Royal Deer— Eating Beaver Tails— A Tra! pover the Moun- tains— Wolves about the Cahim— Varieties of Deer, . 201 CHAPTER XV. At the Lake of the Woods— After Jtoose— A Plague of Mos- quitoes—Dark Swamps and Deep Rivers— Componsa- tions, * CHAPTER XVI. In the Swamps— Habits of the Moose— The Moose-Call— On the River— Good Shooting Secures a Group— The King of Game Animals— The Naturalist nearly Killed, . 2o0 CHAPTER XVII. With the Indians— How Indians Hunt Big Game— The Parallel Trails— Indian Superstitions— A Potent Bev- erage— Moose all " Nickoshin "—Return to Civilisa- tion, 257 CHAPTER XVIII. In Colorado— On the Trail of Elk— A Night in the Snow- Deer, but no Elk— Another Wild-Goose Chase— The World's Fai" King— The liast Hunt 27G CHAT'TER XIX. Results of the Camp-Fires— Tlie Specimens Obtained, . 300 fMema^itii LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. FACING PAQB The Rocky Mountain goat .... Frontispiece A corner of the storeroom 5 A family group 21 A mule deer buck on As he appeared in the openmg " They are sure good bear knives " "^ • 97 A group of Virginia deer IIS On guard no Almost despairing Off for a long tramp 213 Ready to go home The monarch of the woods ""'' A mountain king "' Pi ■Ml ^^^ u o CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. CHAPTER I. Nurse d by a Squaw — Boyhood and Early Manhood — How an Education was Obtained. jNE raw March evening, in the early days of Kansas, a covered wagon drawn by oxen stopped on the bank of the Wauka- russa River. In the wagon lay a babe close to the side of its mother, whose illness was so severe that but little attention could be ]t:iid to the child. The sturdy pioneer, who had left his Eastern home to make a new one in the West, cheered his wife with a word and placed the child on a bed of grass before a bright fire. Near the spot selected for the camp was the winter village of a band of Indians, and the fire had been hardly started when a number of the red men gathered around the wagon. The con- dition of the sick mother appealed to the womanly in- stincts of the squaws, and tender hands ministered to her wants. The infant was taken from its improvised bed, and soon was drawing a new life from a red breast. For weeks the mother hovered between life and death, and all the while the babe was cared for in the village of the Indians. He thrived, and when the 1 2 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. mother was restored to health the baby boy was stroug and lusty. This babe was Lewis Lindsay Dyche and his life almost began at a camp-fire. With the precocity often seen in pioneer life he seemed to pass from in- fancy to manhood with no intervening period of boy- ishness or youth. All the pleasures of his tender years were combined with business. At the age of nine ho was hunting and trapping along the banks of the Waukarussa. His playmates were his dogs ; his playiaings were the beasts and birds; his play- grounds were the woods and prairies and the camps of the Indians. His hard lot and that of his father and mother taught him the value of money. Work was as natural to him as play to ordinary boys. For a five-cent piece he would follow the horses of the sorghum mill all day long, and this money would be hoarded with that received for the furs obtained during the winter's trapping and hunting. All this time the alphabet was a mystery to him, and while ho was in demand among tho neighbors as a worker, he realized that to succeed in life, even among frontiersmen, it was necessary for him to have other learning than that rbtained ill the woods. At tho age of sixteen he was tall and well formed, with the habits and appearance of a man. He had learned the rudiments of reading at the age of twelve, but shame prevented the tall, raw- boned boy from showing his ignorance in the village school, and he advanced slowly in his learning. At the age of sixteen he found that his hoarded money had accumulated until he was tho possessor of $G0O. OBTAINING AN EDUCATION. 8 With this ho determined to obtain an education, and for three years he studied at the State Normal School at Emporia, Kansas, preparing his mind to receive that higher education which was gradually opened to him. In order to husband his means, he rented a small room and did his own cooking during the three years. Mrs. A. P. Morse, an instructress in the school, took a deep interest in the young man, and gave him many valuable suggestions regarding his mode of study, which helped him over the rough path- ways until he was able to travel them alone. In addition to the mild persuasiveness of Mrs. Morse, there came a help of a different nature. Dr. C. R. Pomeroy, that sturdy and resolute president of the State Normal School whose strength of character has impressed so many minds in the West, saw the ambition of the diffident young backwoodsman, and opened to his mental vision such vast fields of re- search that ho breathed a new life into the veins of the young man. >.fter the three years at the normal school, he, with one companion, went in a covered wagon to Lawrence, where the Kansas State University is situated, and there they camped in a sheltered vale just north of the university buildings. At night they slept in their wagon, and their meals were cooked at a camp-fire. They camped here until the cold weather drove them to warmer shelter, and then they rented a small room in the city, and there did their own cooking for the reiaainder of the year. While the work at tho normal school had been hard because it was strange, here it was hard because '/f^ ."' V.J'^'-!^ '?**".'■' t.^'; 4 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. it was made so by the enthusiast. Night and daj^ he pored over his books, only leaving them when dragged away by his fellow-students, who saw that ho was breaking himself down by his close application. But even his recreation was work. He wandered over the fields and along the river, collecting insects for Professor Snow, and became so expert that he was afterward regularly employed by the professor to assist him in making his collection. From this source he obtained a considerable sum of money, which went toward defraying his expenses. The university was then in its infancy, and Dyche saw that by properly combining his studies he could master more than one course at a time, and to this end he devoted himself. So well did he apply his vigorous mind that at the end of five years he grad- uated at the head of his class, obtaining two degrees. Nor did he stop here, for when he was preparing for new fields, Professor Snow offered him the position of assistant in his department. Under the guidance of the professor the j'oung man became invaluable to the university, and the chair of anatomy and physi- ology was created and given to Dyche. Later on the branches of zoology, animal histology, the curator- ship of birds and mammals, and the practical work of taxidermy were placed under his direction and guidance, with a corps of assistants. The museum of the university, where stands the fine-'t collection of mounted animals in the world, tells how well he has done his duty, and to the story of the incidents and adventures of the young man's life while in search of these mammals the pages of this book are devoted. ly he gged was But over s for was or to this oney, )yche could ) this ly his grad- ^rees. ig for sition dance ible to physi- )n the irator- work Q and ds the i, tells 3ry of I's life )f this mwfiimsmmmiBmimmmimiF* a. 3 c to CHAPTER II. Old Jim Leatherman's Load — Tlie Storm — Some Experi- ences with Snakes — About Antelope — Useless Tails and Queer Horns — Fight with a Rattlesnake — How Dyche bcaitid the Tramps out of Camp. JT was a jolly quartette that rode in old Jim Leatherman's wagon over the prairies of western Kansas, on a hot July after- noon, from Buffalo, a little shipping sta- tion of the Union Pacific Railroad. A casual oh- server would have taken the party for a lot of school- boys out on a frolic, and he would not have been far wrong. The two older boys were the joUiest of all. The younger boys were not quite so demonstrative, yet they, too, were full of animal life and were in- spired by the invigorating air of the plains. The old boys called each other Mudgo and Snow, while the younger ones were known as Dyche and Dick. At home Mudge and Snow were staid college professors, and Dyche and Dick were students in the institution. While in college circles decorum was duly observed, hero on the prairies all four called each other by the most convenient names, and while they are removed from the college atmosphere these names may be sufficient. Old Jim Leatherman found his strange load in- comprehensible. Mudge would suddenly break off 6 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. from his rhapsody on the possible skeleton of a plesiosaurus that he expected to find, jump from the wagon, and scurry over the prairie after Snow. Then both would return, triumphant over the capture of some inoffensive insect which the bright eyes of the old boys had detected as they rode along. The day thus passed was short to the travellers. Many trophies of the " bug hunters" had been gathered when the wagon halted by the side of a little stream which wound across the barren plain . A lone cotton- wood tree stood sentinel on the bank as a beacon to the party, and Leatherman interrupted a scientific discussion with the announcement : "Here's the place and there's your firewood," pointing to the tree. The tent was soon pitched, a blazing fire started, a pan of bacon set to frying, and the camp life of the naturalists was begun in earnest. Each had an as- signed task. One got wood, one cooked, and the others arranged the tent and camp-ground. The sun- set presaged foul weather. The whole horizon was banked with clouds. Snow and Dyche took up their quarters in the tent, while Mudge, Dick, and Leather- man spread their blankets on the sand at the foot of the sentinel cottonwood. The four boys sank to slumber, unmindful of the chorus of coyotes which visited the spot to serenade the guests of the plains. Deep sleep wrapped the camp in silence when the promise given by the sky at sunset was fulfilled. The sleepers outside were aroused by the advance guard of the rain. In the west there arose a solid wall of ebony. Deeper and deeper grew the black- THE STORM. ness which crept up, blotting out the sky. In the middle was a surging, rolling, tumbling mass, from the centre of which flashes of lightning shot forth. The air, which all day and night had been hot almost to suffocation, grew chill. A great calm filled the whole breadth of the plain. A hush was on earth and sky. Then the appalling silence was broken. The huge black wave was cut by the vivid lightning, and the earth seemed shaken by the terrible battle of the ele- ments. The muttering thunder increased in tone and volume until all space was filled with the sound. Bellowing, roaring, and crashing it came on, the clouds covering the sky and casting a mantle of blackness over the land that was only broken by the constant flashing of the lightning. The storm burst upon the camp, and with one mighty sweep almost tore the tent from its fastenings. Snow caught one end and Dyche the other, and throwing themselves flat on the ground, they held the ck th close and prevented the wind from getting under. The force of the wind crushed the tent to the earth, broke the poles, and threw the whole party flat. Then the very flood-gates of heaven seemed to be opened, and torrents of water came down. The tent was at the foot of a knoll, and down this the water swept, covering everything with drift, rubbish, and mud. Dry ravines became torrents, and the heavens seemed to send down rivers. For two long hours the storm raged, and then the turmoil ceased. Cold and wet, the jolly crowd of yesterday lay almost perishing in the mud which flowed through S CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. the crevices under the tent. Morning dawned at last, and one by one the members of the party crawled out. Dyche had suffered most, for he had lain all night at the door of the tent with little cover- ing, and the water and mud had poured over him, chilling him to the bone. Never before had he felt cold as he felt it then. Barely able to move, he got out at dawn, started a fire, and finally succeeded in rubbing sufficient vitality into his b( iimbed limbs to be sure once more that life was pie mt. It took but a short while for the camp equipment to become dry in the sun, and by noon barely a sign of the storm was to be seen on the surrounding prairie. The remainder of this day and several days thereafter were devoted to the search for fossils. One very hot morning Snow said that he liesired cer- tain specimens of the snake kind, and wanted the boys to devote the day to collecting them. Gathered around the camp-fire that night, all were ready to tell of their adventures and show the tro- phies of the chase. In handling a specimen of rattler Snow was a little careless, and the reptile slipped its head from his hand, fastening its fangs in his finger. It was a small snake, but none the less dangerous. A ligature was tied around the finger and the poison sucked from the wound. After the excitement was over the " game" was displayed. There were whip- snakes, bull-snakes, hog-nosed snakes, rattlesnakes, and racers. The oddest was the hog-nosed snake. It has the appearance and shape of the rattler with- out its fangs. Coiling up, it throws back its head and opens its mouth so wide that its jaws are dislo- SOME EXPERIENCES WITH SNAKES. cated, the result being that it is compelled to go around with the mouth wide open until the disloca- tion iH reduced. If it bites it does no harm, for it has neither fangs nor poison-bags. "Did you over see a snake sunstruck?" Snow asked, and all but Mudge thought ho was joking and kept a discreet silence. "I am not quizzing. It is an actual fact that snakes cannot stand the heat of the sun on the sand. Unless they get shelter during the middle of the day they will die. If you will notice, all snakes are coiled up at noon about the foot of a bush or are under rocks. I got one big fellow to-day, a whip-snake. I had him in my net, and laid him on the ground by my side while I rested. In fifteen minutes he was dead. He was sunstruck." The campers were in need of fresh meat., and the conversation gradually drifted to hunting. Antelope had been seen every day, in groups of from five to ten, but no attempt had been made to get one, as all the time had been devoted to collecting insects and fossils. The only fire-arm in the camp was an old carbine belonging to Mudge, and it was apparently in such a dilapidated condition that no one cared to risk his reputation by attempting a shot with it. " Antelope is the hardest thing on earth to get a shot at, young feller," said one of a party of cowboys that visited the camp, " and you'll find that they can make out a hunter miles away. If there's only one in the band, he'll always keep his eyes skinned for something to get scared at." This duly impressed the boys with the idea that an 10 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. antelope had almost supernatural powers, and that it would be an extremely difficult feat to shoot one, es- pecially with Mudge's carbine. Dyche, however, an- nounced his intention of trying to get one, and for an hour endured the gibes and jokes of the whole party. He started early next morning, and late in the even- ing, just as old Jim was beginning to prepare supper, he returned carrying a fifty-pound load of antelope on his back and dragging the old carbine after him. He was tired, but after a good supper of antelope steak was able to tell the story of the day's adven- tures as they all sat around the camp-fire. " I tried all the forenoon to crawl near enough to the antelope to get a shot at them, but they always saw me long enough beforehand to run a mile or two away by the time I started to crawl to them. About one o'clock, a band of seven came down a ravine and went behind a knoll about three hundred vards from a/ where I was sitting. My shoes were off in an instant and I made a rush to intercept the animals as they rounded the knoll. I made a good race, but found that the jarring of my feet on the ground had alarmed the antelope, and I got to the mouth of the ravine just in time to see the seven tawny-yellow creatures racing away about one hundred and fifty yards off. I sent two bullets after them, and in less time than it takes to tell it, those animals were going over the top of a hill fully half a mile away. They stopped on the top of the hill for a few seconds, looking back and evidently wondering what it was that was following them. My blood was up now, and I determined to follow Ihe band. I travelled two miles, and then saw i*.a^-il^ifcAUl> Ji^. .< ALL ABC jT antelope. 11 that it would be as profitable to follow the south wind. " I knew what would be my portion if I came back to camp without meat, especially since my feet were full of cactus thorns and had been cut and bruised by the long tramp o^f r the sand and rocks. I limped painfully back to T/here I had left my shoes. I went stumbling along, jumping now and then at the sound of a grasshopper, which suggested the wicked whir of a rattler's tail. As I climbed over a knoll I saw an old buck antelope standing near a dozen or more which were lying sunning themselves. The band was on the top of a hill, and the old fellow who was on guard was standing where he could see the whole country in every direction. I got within half a mile of the antelope without being seen. Two or three members of the band appeared to have their heads in the air all the time. They were evidently guards, and the safety of the band depended on their vigilance. " Having had no experience as an antelope hunter, I was puzzled. I did not know how to get near them. Concluding that they were no harder to kill than the animals I had hunted since boyhood, I began a care- ful stalk. Crawling about four hundred yards up a ravine, I reached a spot within five hundred yards of the animals, unobserved. Now there was no ravine in which to crawl, so I chose the best ground I could find and began a snake-like movement up the slope. I accepted anything for cover, ant-hills, bunches of grass, cactus bushes, or even little ridges in the sand made by the wind. In this way I made two hun- dred yards in two hours, and had not been seen. 12 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. " Sometimes the antelope would come in such plain sight that I was compelled to lie close to the ground while they were looking my way. I got ahead at the rate of about a foot a minute until I was within two hundred and fifty yards of the old buck on the hill. By lifting my head carefully I could get glimpses of several others, but almost despaired of getting closer, and had no faith in the old carbine for such a long shot. " While I Wv'is resting and getting possession of my faculties, the animals moved a few yards to the south. I saw, at the same time, that the ground was lower to my left and was traversed by an old buffalo trail. Moving sideways a few inches at a time and hug- ging the ground desperately close, I succeeded in getting to :he trail, which entirely hid me from the animals. This was satisfactory to a hunter if noth- ing more. After resting a few minutes I pulled, dragged, and pushed myself along the trail fifty or seventy five yards, and was now within t,vo hun- dred yards of the band, and had neither been seen, smeUed, nor heard. I lifted my head very slowly and carefully some six inches, and could see, through some bunches of grass which grew near my face, the entire band of fifteen or twenty animals. I could scarcely believe my eyes, but there they were in bold relief against the sky — some lying down, others standing at ease, and half a dozen or more fawns running and playing like young colts. "I became so interested in watching the move- ments of the animals that I forgot for a while what I was there for. It seemed a shame to fire into the ALL ABOUT ANTELOPE. 13 band with that old blunderbuss, but in order to get fresh meat and to put a stop to certain jokes which would be my portion if I returned to camp empty- handed, I resolved to do my best and kill an antelope. I took a long breath and trained the weapon on the nearest full-grown animal, remembering the advice which my father always gave me to 'be sure that the sights are on the gun before you pull trigger. ' " I fired, and in less than a second, apparently be- fore the bullet had time to get there, that whole band was in motion. It was a grand sight. In their ex- citement they ran within fifty yards of me, and had it not been for an accumulation of rust, I might have extracted the empty shell and got another shot at them at close range. The spotless fawns had no trouble in keeping up with the band; in fact, they seemed to be playing as they ran along, for they leaped and bounded in the air as if they enjoyed the sport. " In less than a minute they seemed a mile away, and in a half -minute more they were out of sight. They impressed me with the fact that they were the proudest, swiftest, and most graceful animals I had ever seen. " By this time I remembered that I had shot at one of them, and with a feeling of anxiety I walked over the hill to where the band had been standing. To my great surprise I saw a big old antelope lying there dead. It almost took my breath away. I looked at the dead antelope and then at the old carbine, and decided that the old gun was the best shooter on earth. I got my shoes, and lightening the load as 14 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. much as possible, put the antelope on my back and brought it in. From the feeling of my shoulders I think it weighed two hundred pounds." It weighed about seventy, but Dyche was tired. "Well, now, Dyche, I want you to tell me what you noticed about the animal. You have been studj^- ing about large mammals ever since I first knew you, and are too much of a naturalist not to have examined the first antelope you ever killed." This question from Snow at first startled Dyche, but after getting over a little diffidence ho said : " After my first feeling of surprise, I began to look the animal over. It was a fat, barren doe." " A what? " said Dick. " What is a barren doe? " " A doe that has never had a fawn, or loses her fawn early in the spring and goes without one for the rest of the summer, is called a barren doe. My attention was attracted particularly to the head, which is much more handsome than that of any of the deer kind. The muzzle was delicately and well formed. It was completely covered with hair, with the exception of a narrow streak between the nostrils and the bare skin around them, which was very black. The ears were small — smaller than those of the com- mon deer, terminating in a point turning inward from the general direction of the ear. The eye was 'arge and dark hazel. I had seen it described as 'black,' 'very black,' or 'intensely black,' and I made a close examination to satisfy myself. It was a hazel which, at a short distance, could easily be mistaken for black, but it was not black. The horns were small, not more than an inch long." ^. USELESS TAILS AND QUEER HORNS. 15 " What do you know about horns, Dyche? " asked Snow. " I am coming to that. The body was short, thick, and heavy, and looked bunchy. This thick, bunchy appearance, by the way, is more noticeable on a cold day. The tail is painfully short, and the question naturally arises, 'What is it good for?' It is too small for either ornament or use, being less than three inches long. No other American animal has such trim feet. The hoofs are long, slender, and sharply pointed, being ebony black in color. One very noticeable and striking peculiarity of the feet is that there are no accessory hoofs on the back, such as are seen in cows, sheep, goats, and deer. "Now as to the horns. The most remarkable characteristic of the antelope is that it has true horns and not antlers, and it sheds these horns every year. Naturalists have been doubtful on this subject for years ; but it is a fact, nevertheless, that such is the case. All species of deer shed their antlers. There is a wide difference between horns and antlers. True horns are seen on cows, sheep, and goats, while ant- lers are found in the deer family. An antler is a pure bony structure growing from the frontal bone of the animal. The males of pU species of deer grow their antlers every year. The antler begins to grow in the spring about the time that leaves begin to sprout on the trees, first appearing on the animal's head as a sort of knot or knob, covered with velvety skin. This knob grows very fast, soon being several inches long. It then bifurcates, and two knobs are seen on the end of the protuberance. One of these 10 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. forms the main branch of the antler, while the other is the first prong or tine. The main beam continues to grow and bifurcate until the form of the antler with its many branches is completed, which occurs about the last of August. This is a wonderful growth when it is remembered that the antlers of the elk and moose sometimes attain the weight of fifty or sixty pounds. While grc ing, the antlers, esj)ecially the growing ends, are very tender, and can be whittled with a knife almost as easily as a green cucumber. As it approaches the base the antler be- comes hard and bony in its structure. About the time the leaves of the trees have reached their growth and have ripened, tba antlers have also reached their growth and are ripe, as it were. They are now very hard, and although covered with the velvet skin, it does not take long for the bucks to rub them clean by raking them up and down against the trees and bushes and whipping and threshing around in the underbrush. After the velvet has been removed this whipping and threshing process is continued until the antlers are very hard and bear a fine polish. The natural color is white, but this continued rub- bing in the dirt and against the bark and leaves of trees gives them a brown color, as seen on the deer killed in the forest." "Well, what is the use of the antlers, anyway?" asked Dick. " They get their growth and then are shed again in a few weeks." " I think a buck without antlers would not be in style," was the reply. " The antlers are weapons of warfare with other bucks, and add much to the at- USELESS TAILS AND QUEER HORNS. 17 tractive appearance of the animal when wooing the doe. When a buck fights any other animal except another buck he usually uses his feet, but during the rutting season the bucks fight terrible battles. They tear up the earth and break down the trees in their struggles with each other. Sometimes they fight so fiercely that their horns become locked, and they die from exhaustion, becoming prey for wolves. "The antlers are usually dropped soon after the rutting season has closed. Common deer, moose, and caribou begin to drop their antlers about the last of December, old bucks shedding them earlier than young ones. Elk usually carry their antlers until March. After the antlers drop off the skin of the head grows over the spot, and all bucks are 'muleys' until the warm spring days start the horns to sprout- ing again. " Now I am ready to explain what I said about the antelope's shedding its horns. The part shed is the shell, which is a true horn and grows on the bony horn-core which is never shed. This horn is unique and interesting in several respects. About half-way up from the base is a prong or branch, which is usually rather short. It stands forward, outward, and upward. No other true horn is branched. This peculiarity has given to the animal the name of prong buck, by which it is known to many naturalists. The prong buck sheds his horns in a most remark- able way. The true horn is modified skin, as the antler is modified bone. When the time for shed- ding the horn comes, a new skin begins to grow be- tween the shell and bony core. This core is similar 18 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. to that of a cow and stands up a little beyond the prong. The old horn does not drop off and then let the new one grow as in the case of antlers, but the old horn stays on the core to protect the new one while it is growing. As the new horn-skin develops, a lot of coarse hairs grow from it and penetrate the old horn shell near the base, where it is quite thin. This tends to retain the old shell in place as a protection to the tender hom growing under it. As the new horn grows it produces a hard tip which fits on the end of the bony core, and this hard portion gradually extends or grows down over the bony core toward its base. When the entire horn is hard, then the old horn or shell is dropped off, leaving the bony horn- core covered with the new horn-skin. The new horn, when it first sees daylight, is a queer instrument of defence. Its upper part is a true horn, while the lower part is a thick skin covered with coarse hair. It grows harder and harder all summer just during the period when the true deer have no antlers, and is perfect by the first of August." "Well, there's one thing about antelope," said Snow; " its meat can't be beaten." "It's all right for a few meals," was the reply of Mudge as he took another mouthful, "but for a steady diet it is not so good as buffalo. It cloys the stomach when you get too much of it." Dyche's success induced him to make another trial a few days later, and he went after more antelope; but late in the afternoon he returned to camp with an immense rattlesnake trailing over his shoulder. The reptile was one of the largest ever seen by any mem- FIGHT WITH A RATTLESNAKE. 10 ber of the party, being four feet eight inches long and proportionately thick, resembling a bull-snake. After supper Dyche told his story o" the capture. " Seeing a band of antelope on the top of some chalk bluffs, I slipped along to get a shot at them. As I went carefully over a ledge I heard something drop behind me, and looked around in time to see this big fellow coiling for another spring. He had jumped at me from a secluded place in the rocks, and missed my foot as I stepped on a projecting shelf. I went up the side of that bluff in a hurry, thinking nothing more about the antelope. I had my insect net with me, and thought he would be a fine fellow to capture alive; so I made a cast, covering him completely, much to his surprise, but I was the most surprised of the two before he got through with the net, for it was hardly a second before the snake had coiled and torn the net to pieces. He struck it viciously several times, and then began looking for me. I dropped a big flat rock on his back, which I thought would crush the life out of him, but he came out from under that rock in a hurry, mad clear through. He struck the rock several times, leaving great green splotches of venom on it» I was considerably worked up my- self by this time, and began pouring such a fire of rocks upon him that I soon put him where he could do no harm. " I tried to flag some antelope to-day, but they had been tried before. I saw a fawn in a patch of grass, and as he was a little fellow I thought I could catch him. He saw me and went out of sight like a shot, and I then heard a doe on the slope above me utter- 20 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ing a series of queer squealing, whistling noises. I followed and saw a herd of antelope. As they were in a position where it was impossible for me to ap- proach them unobserved, I thought I would see Avhat there was in <1agging. Carefully adjusting my red handkerchief to my gun, I raised it in the air and waited results. As soon as the handkerchief was seen there v ere a number of whistles, and then the whole band trotted off and did not stop until they were a mile away." Camp was now moved to a spot near Sheridan, on the railroad; but here it was found that eternal vigilance was the price of peace, for the whole country was over- run with tramps. They were so numerous that it was necessary for some one to remain at camp all the time to protect the supplies. This became so annoying that Dyche concluded to try the effects of a scare upon the unwelcome visitors. In the tent was a bag of live snakes, and as a dozen or more of the tramps were lounging around the camp, Dyche brought out the bag and began taking the reptiles out and allow- ing them to squirm about his body and head. With both hands full he started to where the vagrants were making themselves at home, and was pleased to see that his plan worked well. After that it was onl}' necessary to begin handling the snake-bag to clear the place of tramps. The location was found to be undesirable on account of tramps and hydrophobic skunks, and it was deter- mined to move to Colorado, where a few weeks were sp^nt in the Platte Canon, completing the collection of insects. ses. I .y were to ap- se what my red air and lief was then the ntil they m, on the vigilance was over- lat it was 1 the time annoying 3f a scare was a hag he tramps rought out and allow- ad. With grants were 3ased to see it was only )ag to clear B on account t was deter- weeks were he collection Hi—*"- *- ^vjHe^^SaSt^f*^^ CHAPTER in. o a In New Mexico — Encounter with a Bear — Cold Hospital- ity — TIio Retired Boston Merchant and his Mountain Ranch — An Able Missouri Liar — The Mule that was Not a Mule — Seven Deer with Seven Shots. >ONTEZUMA CAMP, on the Gallinas River, in New Mexico, which had been pre-empted for two summers in succession by Professor Snow, was an ideal spot for an insect-collector's camp. He made this his home camp in the mountains and enjoyed life with his family during the summer months in collecting and arranging the various rare insects which abound in that part of the country. Dyche was with him, but the limited sphere of work was irksome to him, and at last the desire to get among big game became so strong that he started on a tramp up the moun- tains with Walter Russ, a student who was on his first collecting trip. Dyche wanted to hunt deer and possibly bear, and Russ thought he could stand it as long as Dyche could. A ranch eighteen miles from Montezuma Camp, on the Gallinas River, was the objective point for the first day, and Dyche determined to reach that place by night if it was within the range of human possibility. Under ordinary circumstances eighteen miles in a day is not a long trip, but when it is over 32 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. a country where there is not even a trail, and through a canon where half the time must be spent in getting over rocks and across the river, it will be seen that the task before the two men was anything but a pleasant one. Dyche carried a forty-two-pound pack and a gim, while Kuss had a lighter load ; but before they reached the end of the journey the loads felt as if each weighed a ton. Rain began falling a short time after they started and poured down steadily all day, soaking their clothes and making the packs w^eigh heavier and heavier with every mile traversed. The rain so in- creased the volume of the stream that the slippery poles which served for foot-bridges became unsafe and the travellers were compelled to wade the river thirty-seven times, with water hip-deep. The pour- ing rain had so soaked the traA^^eliers, however, that the wading had little effect in increasing their dis- comfort. Russ was tired and ready to give up, hut was cheered on by Dyche, who used all his persuasive powers to keep his companion going until they could reach the ranch. While stumbling along, exhausted from their ex- traordinary exertions, they roxmded a point of rocks and came face to face with a big black bear. The animal was scrambling around the ledge, evidently trying to keep his feet dry, and was within thirty foet of the two men when they sa^v eaeli other. The bear rose on his hind feet in an. attitude of defiance, missed his footing, rolled over into the stream with a snort of surprise, got up with a double snort of terror, and made a wild rush up the opposite side ENCOUNTER WITH A BEAR. 28 id through in getting seen that ling but a )Ound pack but before Dads felt as hey started king their eavier and rain so in- bhe slippeiy ame unsafe e the river The pour- iwever, that g their dis- ^ive up, but s persuasive .1 they could )m their ex- int of rocks bear. The ;e, evidently dthin thirty other. The 1 of defiance, stream with ible snort of 3pposite side of the mountain, sending rocks and mud flying in his haste to get away. Ru.s made equally good time up his side of the mountain, all the while beg- ging Dyche not to shoot but to let the bear get away if it wanted to. Hurriedly cutting the strings which bound his gun to his pack, Dyche got the weapon and shot two big holes through the air up toward the place where the bear was making such frantic efforts to get away. The shots served only to accelerate the movements of both the bear and Russ, and in a minute the bear was out of sight, while Russ stood shivering away up on the side of the mountain. The episode had one good effect. Russ, for an hour, had been begging Dyche to stop and camp, but now he was most anxious to push on, and ho hurried up the remaining two miles as if he did not know what fatigue was. Ho con- tinued to urge more speed until they reached the park in which Johnson's ranch was situated, and only then did he feel perfectly safe. Darkness compelled them to feel their way along, and with outstretched hands they groped about until they found a house. A knock at the door brought a man whom they asked for shelter. What was their surprise when they received a short answer that they could get no accommodations there. Not only was admission to the house refused, but even the stable was barred against them. Begging and pleading \va8 of no avail, though the rain was pouring down on them. This tirouwed Dyche's indignation, and he gave the proprietor a piece of his mind about his in- hospitality which had the effect of causing the man 8 I '! 24 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ■A i i» * i| i ' * J 1 to go inside for consultation, and after this reluctant consent was given for them to enter. The occupants of the cabin, two men, a woman, and some children, eyed the visitors with suspicion, and to tell the truth they were m' th^ag but reputa- ble-looking citizens as they str -; J 'k ; ^ the big fire- place with their clothes dripping w* t and their faces and hands cut and scratched from contact with bushes and rocks on the trail. Dyche noticed that the woman seemed frightened, and to calm her fears he took from his haversack a package of coffee and from his pocket a dollar which he offered her to make him some coffee. This partially dis- pelled the cloud of suspicion which rested upon them, and soon the travellers were making a meal from the cold lunch which they had in their haversa ks and the steaming coffee. Securing a place l>e/^ide the fire they were soon sleeping the d\e<^i of ( ;'haus- tion. Next morning Johnson, the proprietor of V e ranch, appeared ashamed of his inhospitality of :!.o pre- vious night, and explained that it was rot from any desire on his part to mistreat the travellers, but that he was not in good condition to accommodate strangers "nd felt particularly sensiti'' e on the sub- ject, as he had had a very bitter ex^orience with a party of Englishmen a few weeks bi :.v.<\ These men came to his ranch, asking for acconi'v lations, and put on such lordly airs and found so much fault that Joha-ion md Li^j wife determined to allow no more such peopl'^ ',ii their place. When Dyche ai^d Russ camo tlicy supposed that it was another RM COLD HOSPITALITY. 85 s reluctant a woman, suspicion, 3Ut reputa- ,he big fire- their faces intact with loticed that calm her package of he offered lartially dis- upon them, eal from the '^ersa^ks and : .e-'.de the of t'haus- ot I e ranch, T of :Lo pre- as rot from ravjllers, but accommodate 3 on the Hub- rience with a L\ These men .Hlntions, and ) much fault led to allow When Dyche 5 was another party of Englishmen and took measures to prevent a repetition of the insults. Johnson said he had been partly revenged on the Englishmen, as a silver-tip grizzly bear had demolished their camp which they had made about a mile from the ranch. The Englishmen were there to get a bear and were supplied with all that money could buy in the way of hunting outfits and delicacies for the table. They were great hunters (in their own estimation) and bragged continually about the big game which they had slaughtered. Bear-tracks were plentiful on the mountain, and day after day was spent by the whole party looking for the ".nimals. One night, on returning after a fruitless hunt, they found that the grizzly had shown his American contempt for all things British and had literally captured the camp. It hardly seemed possible that one bear could do so much damage in so short a time. Sacks of sugar had been torn open, eaten, and trampled on the ground ; dried fruit was scat- tered over the whole place ; cracker-boxes had been opened and the contents chewed and stamped in the dirt ; flour-sacks were torn to pieces and the con- tents made into a paste and trodden into the earth ; a hundred pounds of bacon was trampled, torn, and bitten until its usefulness was gone ; a box of candles was chewed up and spewed over the ground ; three sacks of different-sized shot had been torn open, the contents thoroughly mixed and so scattered that they were of no more value ; the tobacco case was opened and several pounds of smoking and chewing tobacco strewed around and mixed with the general mess 36 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. around the camp. Bruin had fully satisfied his ap- petite and then displayed the general " cussedness" of his nature by leaving a universal wreck behind him. And how those Englishmen did rage ! They swore vengeance against that individual bear in particular and all bears in general. There was absolutely noth- ing left about the place fit to eat. Going to Johnson's they begged sufficient food to last them until they coidd send down the mountain for more supplies. They bought a big bear- trap and imported a fine Eng- lish hound and began a campaign against the bear. The greatest loss was the death of the hound, which was caused by the bite of a trade rat. One man was now constantly on guard at the camp while the others searched the woods for the bear. The only indica- tion they ever had of his presence afterward was when he ate up a deer which one of their number killed and left in the woods while he returned to camp for assistance to bring it in. The top of the mountain was still seven miles away, and Johnson told Dyche of another ranch there be- longing to a man named Harvey, who could probably give them better hunting-grounds than would be found lower down. This determined the hunters to push on up the mountain. Near the top they came upon a beautiful park, in the centre of which stood a lone, one-roomed cabin. A cow and burro grazed on the luxuriant grass close by, and a man was chopping logs. As the two men approacheyche a de- at the same the ranch, arted every ening with itory to tell, ady to shoot Duld not find ng he would eft the ranch et for lunch, i three wild untain. An- t and his mountain ecomo a favorite re- an continent and la on and over a hun- vss of the meadow, d from his dairy he anding the altitude, ch he has built find t the temperature is valley is suiUble for swering shouts rang out, and the ranch was imme- diately a scene of excitement and bustle, for the signal was understood. Dyche had got a deer. "Hurry up there, boys, and get that pack-saddle on old Reuben. Don't you hear that feller hollerin'? He's got a deer, sure !" called out Harvey. Away they hurried up the mountain, and at the edge of a bunch of quaking asp they found Dyche standing beside a fine young buck, while at a little distance lay a second equally fine. The deer were placed on the burro and the procession went to the ranch, where they were met by Mrs. Harvey. Every- body was talking at once and no one cared what the other had to say. The hour was late and one deer was dressed and quartered. Harvey showed that he was a good cook himself, and while his wife prepared the biscuits and coffee he broiled the venison steaks over the coals in the fire-place. The hot supper was enjoyed by all, and then Dyche told the story of his day's hunt. " I had walked all day without getting sight of anything worth shooting. T was tired and disgusted and was dragging myself home when I reached the bunch of quaking asp and willows, up there. I had been along there several times before but had always gone around the thicket. This time I went through it. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled in. The ground was wet and mossy, but that made no difference. After proceeding about a quarter of a mile in this way I \ eached a small grassy park in the centre of the thicket. Just as I entered it on one side I saw three deer going out on the other. They tt 82 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. stopped for a minute at the edge of the timber and my Winchester, which was already pointed that way, was fired at a fine young buck. I took as good an aim as was possible in my ne: '^ous state. The buck bojnded into the forest with the others, and in a second I saw one of the number stop an instant so that I could get a glimpse of his body as he passed between the trees. I shot a second time, taking even more care than at first. The smoke came back in my face and made me very uncomfortable. I walked slowly and carefully across the opening, watching for the slightest movement, oat all was still and I could neither see nor hear the deer. I found plenty of tracks and then great spots of blood . Now I knew my chances were good, I went rapidly forward on the trail and a feAV rods further found the buck lying by the side of a log where he had made his last leap. He was stone dead. I felt like cheering, but restrained myself and began searching for more signs of deer. I thought I might have wounded another and did not like to leave a wounded deer. I followed one trail for about a quarter of a mile, but saw no signs of blood and then returned to the other track. This led me only a few yards and there I found the second deer, shot dead in his tracks. Now was the time to yell, and yell I did, and you know the rest of the story, for you have eaten fresh meat." " I want to know ! And this is the finest meat I have ever tasted, too." Several days later Dyche again went out with the intention of getting a deer before he returned. Away up on the side of the mountain he was making his HIS MOUNTAIN RANCH. 33 mber and nted that )k as good uate. The jrs, and in instant so he passed iking even ne back in I walked , watching still and I ►imd plenty sTow I knew forward on ( buck lying lis last leap, it restrained gns of deer. and did not ed one trail no signs of :k. This led d the second s the time to 9 rest of the finest meat I ; out with the rned. Away IS making his way carefully, stepping softly and avoiding stones and twigs in his pathway for fear the noise would disturb the game. At the opening of a beautiful mountain meadow he stood entranced at the picture which was presented to his gaze. At his feet, ofif to the west, lay "Paradise Valley," as Harvey had named his ranch. Down through a narrow defile in the mountains, as through a golden frame tinged with green, could be seen a picture the like of which had never been limned by painter's brush. Looking over the beautiful valley, all aglow with the beams of the morning's sun, the circling crags of the high- est mountain held in their mighty grasp, in peaceful seclusion, the ideal home of one tired of the world and its constant warfare. Out through the canon, up which the winding trail led, was seen a vast cleft at the foot of which lay a mirror-like lake, reflecting the beauties of hill and dale. The grassy slope led off on either side, and the clusters of fir, spruce, and quaking asp trees formed a living picture in vivid colors. While looking at the scene avl oreathing the pure air which gave him new life, Dyche came upon a large doe. The startled animal was hurrying across the open ground and had just reached the edge of the timber, when the gun spoke and she dropped in her tracks with a ball through the shoulders. The vis- cera were removed and the blood wiped out with grass and leaves, and the ranch was reached just as Harvey was preparing to get out of bed. At the word " deer" the ranchman was half out, and before the word " killed" was uttered he was dressing. ill i • I b4 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. •*I want to know! Another deer! Clare, get old Beuben and bring him up here in a hurry. We'll go right after that deer. Rhea," calling to his wife, " Dyche has another deer. Don't it beat time ! Say, Rhea, give Us an extra mess of that venison this morning. Well, I want to know ! If he didn't bring the liver with him ! Cook a good lot of that too. How far is it? Just think of it, Rhea, just up here at the head of the meadow. Thre ''eer killed almost within a quarter of a mile of th* 'se. This is the country for me. They wouldn't ocxieve it if I should write it back to Boston." Clare brought up old Reuben, and while Mrs. Harvey cooked the venison the deer was brought down from the mountain. The old doe was a good load for the burro and much trouble was experienced in making the contrary brute carry it down safely. How that breakfast was enjoyed ! The long morning tramp and the bracing air sharpened the appetite, while the savory venison, flanked on either side by hot gems and washed down by such coffee and cream as can only be obtained at Harvey't ranch, made a meal not easily forgotten. Dyche now had two young deer, buck and doe, and an old doe for specimens, but the mountains had too great a charm for him and he could not leave them. The early morning hunts and the trailing of the deer through the woods were too great a pleasure to be soon foregone. A few days after killing the doe a rain fell just at the dinner- hour and continued for a few minutes after. When it cleared and the sun came out Dyche took his AVinchester and started up AN ABLE mSSOURI LIAR. 85 tho side of the mountain. Trees and grass were heavy with water and he was soon soaking wot. While going carefully through the underbrush, making as little noise as possible, he was suddenly startled by a noise about twenty-five yards in front of him. A deer jumped out and ran with long bounds for about fifty yards, when it stopped and looked back. Just a small portion of the ba<]c was visible through the underbrush. Taking c;ireful aim he fired, and mak- ing his way through the bushes found that he had broken the back of a doe. Her hair was in fine con- dition and in every way she was a splendid specimen. The old signal-yell was given, and answering shouts came up from the valley as Harvey and the boys with Reuben hastened to get the quarry. As Harvey had occasion to go to Las Vegas, Dyche sent a good load of venison to the party at Camp Montezuma. At Las Vegas Harvey picked up a man who said he was a Missourian and brought him along to work for the summer. According to the Missourian 's story, he was the greatest deer-hunter that ever lived. He had killed twenty-five the win- ter before. Twenty-four of them were shot through the heart. One of them, a big buck, had been out of sight except the head, and its neck was broken just back of the ears. So many stories like these were told by the Missourian that Dyche and Harvey took him out on the mountain to hunt deer. Passing down a meadow with the Missourian about two hundred yards ahead, two deer suddenly jumped up some forty yards in front of the deer-slayer. They stood looking at him and he returned the stare. At last f I m4f J I I r. VTPES OF A NATURAIJST. '^ ' , vpcl slowly off into the and breathlessly f^t^^ «hoot at those deer?" " Why in thunder amn I J "What deer?" j ^^^„t to know ! Didn't yon "What deer ''^* ^ ^^ge o£ the brush?" see them two deer at the _jifa « I didn't see any deer. ^^^^ j^^^^ jj bad. "Well, I want to ^nov' . ^ 8 ^^^ ,,^it,d for you They looked you right m J" ^ chance." I shoot. You'll -;:;?, ::tXvget for so „>any jr^:lt a12Xt he never again —ned -cfn^jts^rsrov^fti^s tionlashehadhuned «^|.^j^ ^^^ ,„d in in the vicinity of the '^^ ^^^, ^,0 mountain .iewhewent ^o"*/" Mexicans had built a into another natural paik. ^ ^^^j^g the slight indosure and kept tl;. ^^^^ ^^ ^j,^ summer up m the ?"*„;„ the inclosure. The aboutado.en ^^^'.f^.'^fXce, a»d it was as wild Mexicans rarely visit^^d '^f J^i^iie following the as any part of the ^^^^J^^^j.^y came upon an fresh trail of a deer, Dy^d >^ ^ ^^^^ animal standing m the brushy Going a little ination he thought that '' J«^ ^^ and was ataost closer he made — ^^X^ slowly nearer ana mire it was a mule, ne wcujv ^^^^ :S see part of the B-do »d one^^g. J^^ ^^^^,, very sure it was a ^^^^"^ J„^,, ^-bich suddenly to within thirty yards of the anmu , SEVEN DEER WITH SEVEN SHOTS. 87 )ffc- into tlie L to the spot those deer?" Didn't you sli?" u had it bad. raited for you h chance." t for so many lin mentioned field of opera- rer the ground I this end in the mountain s had built a tds during the J.Q at the time inclosure. The 1 it was as wild B following the y came upon an ,er a long exam- Going a littlo and was almost owly nearer and ,g. He was now d boldly forward which suddenly gave a great bound and went crashing through the woods, making a noise like a herd of cattle. In a very few minutes it was out of sight, and Dyche real- ized that he had missed an opportunity of getting a fine bull elk. He followed it seven or eight miles, but overtaking that elk was out of the question, so the hunter returned to the ranch and spent several days meditating upon his loss. ' An old Virginia buck deer ranged through the .nountains and had been seen several times ; but ho had been hunted, and it has not yet been chronicled if there is anything wilder or more tricky than a Virginia deer that has been hunted . This old fellow in particular seemed to be equal to all the snares and traps laid for him. One cool, frosty September morn- ing Dyche carefully made his waj' through the woods frequented by this particular deer. While skirting along the edge of a piece of timber ho espied a mov- ing object across the opening. It was about half a mile awp.y, but he could see that it was a buck. It had its head high in the air and was on the lookout for danger. His genera^ direction lay down a ridge. Dyche crawled to a point where he calculated the animal would pass. It was cold, and this with his nervousness put Dycho in a tremble. Minute after minute went by and no deer came. He was just about to give it up, when the deer appeared in a bunch of quaking asp about eighty 5^ards away. He had deserted the ridge and was hiding in the thick I woods. Hardly daring to breathe, Dyche trained the I gun toward the old fellow, when something attracted the animal's attention and it gave three or four great '1 "m^mmmmmmmtmxf 36 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. bounds with its head high in the air and stopped, stone etin, h'stening. Then the rifle spoke and the buck crashed through the woods at full speed, but he was jumping high. Soon he came to the ground in a heap, and the signal-yeU brought the boys and Reuben and the finest specimen of the trip was taken to the ranch. With seven deer killed with seven shot-i, Dyche was now ready to return to his duties away from the woods, and stopped, poke and the speed, but he the ground in die boys and rip was taken (i with seven to his duties ■ ^ . j.-^lr^f^-jijjliy^-ji^yjjj Misvj!K'¥.V!-i:Kiiaimi- .'.jMemmta t ■J ■1 ■ . 1 il I 1 '3 1 1'^^ 5 \ ■ \ > / 4? \ As he appeared in I lie opciiing. CHAPTER IV. In New Mexico — Hunting Bear — Once more at Harvey's — The Same Luck — Camp Bear Trail — The last Pot-Shot — A Long Chase — In Ambush — Too Much of a Good Thing — A Monarch Dethroned — What was Done with the Royal Hide. )T was under greatly changed conditions that Dyche climbed the trail leading to Harvey's ranch, a year after the inci- dents related in the last chapter. He now knew what to expect in the way of game and went well prepared for the summer's campaign. He had given the subject much thought during the win- ter months, and this time he was after bears. For his companion he had a student who displayed nerve, endurance, and tact — three indispensable attributes of a good camper and collector. It was early in June when Dyche and Brown left Las Vegas and took the old trail up the Gallinas River. The day was fine and travelling good, and they reached Harvey's home in good season. D5^che was little prepared for the change which had been wrought itr thB inoimtain ranch. Harvey had util- ized every moment, and now in place of the little one-roomed cabin there stood an imposing log-house with shingled roof, a log-barn partly up, and the ex- Boston merchant had prepared five acres each for 4 39 ! : 40 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. oats and wheat, while two acres were in potatoes. His herd of one cow and burro had increased until he had several of each kind. Substantial furniture replaced the pole table, bedstead, and stools, and to crown all there was a large cooking-range in the kitchen. As all these additions had been transported up the narrow trail on the backs of burros, it was always a mystery to Dyche how the stove had been brought in. The two old-fashioned fire-places gave to the whole a home-like appearance which brought many pleasant memories to Dyche. As the naturalists neared the ranch they saw Harvey at work in his field, and Dyche gave the signal-yell which had been used last year to notify the ranch of the death of a deer. As the sound reached Harvey he gave a jump and sent back the answering yell, while from the house rushed the boys, and even old Reuben recognized the sound and added his sweet voice to the general clamor. They came pell-mell down the trail, with Reuben bringing up the rear ; and Dyche was soon surrounded by the trio, each trying to shake his hand and all talking at once. " There's not been a deer killed since you left here, " said Harvey. " Beaty and his partner have a cabin up here above the meadow, where they are mining mica. They have been hunting deer and hunting deer all winter and got nothing. I guess they have either run them all ofT or made them so wild that you won't be able to get one. I've been telling them how you got one at every shot and whenever you wanted one." " Well, we'll have something better this year. I've ONCE MORE AT HARVEY'S. 41 are mining got a new gun, a regular bear-gun. It's the old reliable Sharp's rifle." " I want to know ! " "Yes. We are going to have bear-meat this year." " I want to know ! I saw bear-tracks down below the meadow not over a week ago, and not a month ago one ate up my calf that died. There are bear here. Beaty and his partner have been after them, but they get nothing." Dinner was soon ready and all went into the house to attend to the inner man. Reuben was a privileged character, but Mrs. Harvey let him understand that his privileges ended at the door of the house, and he stood near the step chewing an oli dish-rag which had inadvertently been left outside. The most noticeable change about the place was on the table. Plates, knives, forks, spoons, and dishes were there, and they were set on a fine extension table. But when the viands were spread there was something which could not have boen changed — that freshness and flavor of the wilderness which brought back such a flood of memories to Dyche that he could scarcely finish the meal, so anxious was he to get out again among the quaking asp and fir. After dinner Brown went back down the trail with a train of burros to get some articles which had been left at the foot of the mountain. Dyche unstrapped his new rifle and wandered off over the old familiar hills. He cared little for the game he might find. His whole being was filled with the joy which comes only to those who have roamed over the fastnesses 'im 43 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. of the mountains in perfect freedom— a thing of which the naturalist hunter alone can boast. Just as the sun was going over the western range the sharp crack of a rifle was hoard in a willow patch up on the side of the mountain, and this was soon followed by the familiar shout. When the gunshot was heard Harvey could hardly wait for the signal, and he yelled to the boys to saddle old Reuben, for he was sure Dyche had a deer. When the call came ringing down the hillside pandemonium reigned at the ranch. Harvey alternately sang, danced, and shouted, and then scolded the boys for being so slow. " Get on the skillet, Rhea — Dyche has a deer. I knew he would get one. Hurry up there, boys. What in time are you poking along so for?" Harvey, the boys, and Reuben were soon at the clump of trees and found Dyche standing by the side of a fine doe. It was carried to the ranch in triumph, Harvey alternately congratulating Dyche and then himself on the success of the hunt. He was im- patient to let Beaty know of it, and told Dyche that he would not have had that deer missed for any- thing. He would rather have given fifty, yes, a hun- dred dollars than to have missed getting that deer. " I knew you couldn't help getting one. How in time did you find him so easy? Beaty never could see one in this part of the mountain." "I spent the afternoon wandering around and thinking of the fine times I had last year. I recalled how I had stalked a buck there and had been disap- pointed under that tree; how a doe had once jumped out of that clump of bushes and how I had killed a if ll THE SAME LUCK. 43 •a thing of ast. istern range in a willow nd this was When the wait for the old Reuben, ^hen the call Liiim reigned danced, and eing so slow. IS a deer. I there, hoys. Qr?" soon at the g by the side 1 in triumph, ;he and then He was im- d Dyche that sed for any- y,yes, ahun- that deer. >ne. How in T never could r. around and I recalled I been di sap- once jumped I had killed a deer in this opening. I paid little attention to any- thing, but just wanted to breathe the fresh air and smell the fir trees. Just at sundown I reached the edge of that clump of willows and stalked carefully through it, as it seemed a likely place to find game. Away across on the other side I saw something move. • Watching carefully I soon made out that it was a deer, and stood perfectly still, while the ani- mal walked out into the opening and began nibbling grass. It was a long way to shoot, over two hundred yards, but I knew if I moved the animal would see me and be off like a shot. I set the sights on *01d Reliable ' at three hundred yards, took the best aim possible, and pulled trigger. When the smoke cleared away I went over and found the old doe with her back broken." But Dyche was after bear thifc. year and had no time to spend at the ranch. Three days later, with a string of burros hired from Harvey, the natural- ists started over an old trail to a point higher in the mountains, where man had rarely been. A chapter might bo written on the haps and mishaps of that trip. The trail was almost obliterated and the hunters were unused to carrying packs, and the trials and tribula- tions of that journey were quite enough to discourage a man of less persistence. It might be told how the packs would slip, and how the donkeys would go the wrong way at the wrong time ; how they would refuse to cross streams at critical moments, and how one ob- stinate old jenny had deliberately broken through the crust of snow and almost frozen her legs before they could tunnel her out of the deep drift. But bears ■ss^ssimmmm •^ ; ih u ; ■ ) [ >! '! j 1 ■':! 1 ! !1 i! 1 44 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. the party must have now. They were encamped in a little meadow which marked a pass between two snow-capped ranges. Each night on the way up the mountain had been full of incident and adventure. It is a story in itself to tell of the terrible wind which blew the dead trees down about the camp during the first night on the trail ; how the monarchs of the forest came crashing down in all directions and threatened destruction to the campers ; how the tent was crushed and the donkeys almost frightened out of their wits by the storm ; how the following night some wild animal, probably a bear or lion, had scared the bur- ro3 so that they rushed into camp and would not venture out again after grass ; how old Reuben im- proved the opportunity to make a meal of the dish-rag and had eaten half a bar of soap before he was dis- covered and tied to a tree with a very short rope in order thpt he might meditate on his sins. All things must come to an end, and this trip up the mountains was no exception to the rule. Just at dark on the evening of the third day camp was made in a little mountain meadow, and when daylight came next morning they saw that the place oould not have been better chosen. Within seventy- five yards of the tent was a well-worn bear trail, where the brutes had passed from one mountain to the other for years. The place was christened " Camp Bear Trail," and preparations for an extended hunt were mad'^. There was no doubt that there were plenty of bears in the vicinity, for their trails could be seen all about the place. So confident were Dyche and Brown r. THE LAST POT-SHOT. 45 icamped in tween two m\y up the -^enture. It rind which during the )f the forest threatened vas crushed I their wits some wild ed the bur- would not Reuben im- the dish-rag he was dis- ihort rope in , AH things mountains d day camp , and when at the place hin seventy- bear trail, mountain to christened an extended ?nty of bears be seen all e and Brown that they would soon get a bear that they contented themselves with bacon rather than risk scaring away the big game by a shot at a grouse or deer. Every lught the burros were brought into camp and tied for fear they would fall a prey to bruin. In a few days the novelty of the situation wore off and Dyche killed a deer, not caring whether the shot scared a bear or not. He went out on the side of the moun- tain to look for meat, carrying his big Sharp and a number 10 Colt shot-gun so that he would bo ready for anything. Hearing a noise in a clump of wil- lows his blood almost boiled with excitement, for from the noise he was sure that a bear was coming. Suddenly the bushes parted and a big mule deer buck trotted out into the opening with head up and ready to jump at the slightest sound. He was on the steep hillside fifty yards above Dyche, who sent a load of buckshot into him and the animal rolled down to within thirty feet of his slayer. Bear-trails were followed day after day without ever seeing or hearing anything of the animals. An ambush was laid for a deer which came to the little lake every evening for water. While lying in wait a band of the animals came down to the water's edge to drink. When they were well bunched and not over seventy-five yards away, Dyche discharged " Old Reliable," and as the frightened deer ran he fired three more shots after them. When the smoke cleared away he found that he had done that which no true hunter feels proud of. He had allowed his excitement to get the better of his judgment, and there, as the result of his four shots, lay six fine deer. CAMPFTRES OF A NATURALIST. Four had seemingly been shot through at the first fire. Dycho was ashamed and almost vowed to give up hunting on account of the unwarranted slaugh- ter. He made all the amends in his pov,.;r, and every pound of meat and all the skins were saved. Blown went down the trail to Harvey's with the meat. In his whole hunting experience thereafter this served as a good lesson. He never again shot at random into a bunch of animals, but always singled out the one wanted for meat or a specimen. The first night after Brown went down with the meat a big bear passed along the trail, kc- mg a track as big as a peck measure. Dycho resolved to see where that bear went if it took all summer. With a light lunch in his pocket, a thin rubber blanket, some matches, a hatchet, his rifle, and seven- teen cartridges he started on the campaign. The trail was fresh and the bear did not seem to know that he was followed. He went swinging along, leaving a trail that could bo followed on the nm. Here he had turned over a log and there he had scratched up the earth looking for roots and tender shoots. He wandered around in an apparently aim- less manner, and Dyche followed every track. Here a stream had been crossed and tlie water was still muddy where the big fellow had stopped to wallow. The trail led into a deep fir forest and it was almost dusk under the trees. The pines interlaced at the top and the ground was covered with a thick bed of needles, shredded fir-cones that had been opened by squirrels looking for the seeds, and leaves, whicl formed a carpet in some places three feet thick. Il IN AMBUSH. 47 t the first ed to give Bd slaugh- >o'<\';r, and ere saved, with the thereafter again shot Hit aiwaya pecimcn. n wuh the kc!> iiig a resolved to 1 summer, hin rubber , and seven- aign. The 3m to know ;ing along, m the run. lere he had and tender irently aim- ■ack. Here er was still to wallow, was almost aced at the lick bed of opened by ,ves, which thick. Il this mass of debris were found many bear beds, where the animals had scooped out great hollows and made comfortable sleeping-places. Night settled down and Dycho was at last compelled to give up the chase. Ho had travelled fully fifteen miles over the mountains and through the forest, and was so tired that he did not think of returning to camp, but finding a sheltered place on a largo projecting rock, he spread his gossamer blanket as a wind-break, and on a bed of spruce and fir boughs, with a blazing fire at his feet, he tried to sleep. He was tired, but sleep would not come. He would fall into a doze and then wake with a start from dreaming about a fight with a big grizzly, and would alternately doze and build up the fire until morning came. At early dawn he started back to the home camp, and the day was spent resting. Awaking from a refreshing sleep next morning, Dycho saw where c bear had come over the trail, and, to show his contempt for the hunters, had wal- lowed in the spring from which they got their drink- ing-water. Brown returned with mail and provisions from Harvey's and a council of war was held. It was decided to make an ambush and wait until the bear again went over the trail and then kill him. He evidently passed along in the night, and a plat- form Avas built in a tree near the trail. Darkness found Dyche safely ensconced on the platform, prepared for an all-night's siege. A heavy overcoat was supplemented by a blanket and a trunk- Btrap secured him to the tree in case he should fall asleep. The rifle and shot-gun were within easy reach, i'.r'/'F?ffiiw?fiMrai ■: »<■ l\ '■) ) '[I J '! 48 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. and it would have been a bad night for a bear had one come across the trail. All night long, shivering and longing for daylight, Dyche sat there, but never a sound of bear was heard. The stillness was horrible. Not an owl hooted and not a twig was snapped by fox or wolf. The twittering of the early birds at last announced the approach of day, and Dyche crawled down, cold and benumbed, and made his way to camp, where a hot breakfast soon reinvigourated him. Again and still again was this ambush laid. A band of deer went over the trail, and then a fox came and smelled the bait but did not touch it, and a wildcat came along and clawed around, but went on without going near the bait. Dyche let them all go, as he did not want to shoot and run the risk of scaring away a bear. But no bear came. Soon after sun- rise on the third morning Dyche crawled into camp for a little breakfast and then hastened back. The bear had been there during his absence. The old fellow evidently came along a few seconds after Dyche left, for he had eaten the whole of the bait which had been left near the trail, and then had scratched up the earth near by. To nish the per- formance he had wallowed in the little stream and passed on over the mountain. Dyche was tired, sleepy, sore, and stiff, but this was too much for human endurance and he promptly started on the broad trail left by the animal. The bear went along, turning over logs, stones, and stumps, looking for bugs. Here he wallowed in a mud- hole to relieve himself from fleas, and there ho scratched up the earth or stretched himself up on li ST. TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 49 ' a bear had g, shivering re, but never vas horrible, snapped by birds at last rche crawled his way to ourated him. id. A band ox came and ,nd a wildcat t on without all go, as he k of scaring 3n after sun- id into camp i back. The ce. The old econds after of the bait tid then had nish the per- stream and iff, but this he promptly nimal. The stones, and illowed in a and there ho mself up on a tree. Dycho could not catch up with him, and at two o'clock in the afternoon he returned to camp almost worn out. A big buck jumped from cover, but he let the animal go. A light supper, and a blank until dawn. A hot breakfast restored him, and after a whole day spent about the camp he felt like going on another campaign. A fox and a wildcat were caught in traps and the skins taken care of, and then Dyche started out to look at some traps, expect- ing to be gone about an hour. It was late in the afternoon when he returned, and from the flush in his face and his general excitement Brown knew that he had seen bears. Dyche had had a most wonderful adventure, and was so wild over it that he could hardly wait until after supper to tell his story. " I got to the fox-traps, and as I was looking around I saw a large bear-trail that was very fresh. The bears had been here, there, and everywhere. The ground was dug up as if a drove of hogs had been rooting and overturning the logs and stones. There must have been a herd of them, for paths led through the woods in a dozen different directions. I took a large circuit in order to find which way they had gone. I soon found the main trail, which was as easily followed as if a herd of cattle had been along there. It went through a number of grassy parks, down a small stream, up another, and then over a mountain. I followed as rapidly as possible, expecting every minute to see them. They spread destruction in their path. Logs, stumps, and stones were turned over and ant hills torn to pieces. A choke-cherry patch was stripped of berries and ^ i 50 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. leaves. The bushes were torn and stripped and the tops chewed off, presenting a sorrowful sight. I determined to get back to camp and start to-morrow with five days' rations in my haversack, and find those bears or die in the attempt. "I wandered along revolving m.y plans in my mind, and came out of the big woods on a mesa about two hundred yards wide, flanked on one side by a heavy forest, while on the other was a sheer fall of several hundred feet. It was a beautiful place, and I thought it would be an amusing occupa- tion to roll stones down the caiion, but was too tired to put the idea into practice. I was walking slowly along, looking now and then towards the woods, but not thinking of seeing anything, when suddenly there appeared at the edge of the timber a number of moving objects. I could not make out what they were, but there was such a number of them I con- cluded they must be goats. Mexicans sometimes bring goats up the Pecos River into this country, and I thought a herd might have been driven out of the regular trail. As they appeared to be coming towards me I waited and soon got another glimpse of them about three hundred yards away. They were among the trees, and the sun through the leaves gave them a spotted appearance which convinced me that they were goats, for many of the Mexican goats are spotted. I could not see the herder and stood perfectly still waiting for them to get nearer. Sud- denly there came out of the forest, directly to the west of me and not over seventy yards away, a huge grizzly bear. li 3 III A POSTPONEMENT OF ACTION. 61 3ed and the 1 sight. I to-morrow k, and find [ans in my on a mesa on one side ^^as a sheer a beautiful sing occupa- as too tired king slowly e woods, but 3n suddenly ler a number it what they them I con- 3 sometimes country, and n out of the be coming ther glimpse iway. They jli the leaves onvinced me 'exican goats ir and stood carer. Sud- rectly to the iway, a huge "Before I could realise what had happened, out came another, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh. Just think of it, seven big bears in sight all at once ! I think there were four more which I saw, making eleven in all in that band. I knew I was in a most desperate situation. On one hand was a bottomless precipice and on the other a herd of the most ferocious animals which range the moun- tains. Hoy/ the sweat did roll off of my face ! There was only one thing to do, and I did it to perfection. That was to st£.^d perfectly still and let those bears go about their business. I was hunting bears, but not these particular bears. There I stood in per- fectly plain view of those animals, but they did not see me. They were walking fast, and I had a splen- did opportunity to observe their mode of travel as they passed on. "I no longer wondered at my not being able to overtake them on the trail. They went swinging along in a sort of shambling trot or canter almost as fast as the gait of a horse. Some would stop for a second at a time, turning over logs and stones, and then hurry on to overtake the band, which moved right along. " As soon as they were out of sight in the woods to the southwest of me, I hastened to assure myself that I was still alive and wiped the sweat from my face. I could easily have put a bullet through any of them, but what would have happened then? I might have been set upon by the whole gang and would not have made a fair meal for one of them. I made haste to get into the woods and tried to head i FT M t \ k ''I I 62 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. them off. I wanted to get a shot at them where I could get shelter in the trees if they attacked me. They unintentionally outwitted me, however, and went up a ridge while I was watching a stream." "Well, I have a scheme," said Brown. "Let me go back to Harvey's and then down to Las Vegas and get a big bear-trap, and wo will get a bear, sure. It will take some time, but it seems that we are spending more time than anything else, anyway." " Well, as we need more provisions I guess you'd better make the trip to-morrow, " was the reply, and so it was settled. Brown got an early start next morning and Dyche was left alone. The trip would take about ten days to go and return. Dyche started for the woods to see if he could get another look at his bear herd. On the evening of the ninth daj'' after Brown left, Dyche heard the song of a burro down the cailon and he hastened to get a warm supper for Brown, who he knew was coming. From the back of old Reuben dangled a fifty-pound bear-trap. Hot coffee, biscuit, and broileji steak were soon smoking on the tabic, and Brown went ravenously to work on them. "This venison is mighty tough," he remarked. " It must have been one of the oldest bucks in the mountains. " "Take another piece," said Dyche. " It will be better after we've had it a week or two," was Brown's comment, as he took an extra tough bite. "What kind of meat is this, anyhow? It's the toughest venison I ever tasted." "Maybe it's fox." I V ^ -t s ill A MONARCH DETHRONED. 68 ■ ■ m here I }d me. r, and m." Let me Vegas r, sure, we are ray." 8 you'd aly, and ixt next p would 9 started look at Dwn left, liion and wn, who I Reuben I, biscuit, he table, m. emarked. ;ks in the week or an extra anyhow? " Fox nothing. It's more like bvirro-meat, I should say. I didn't leave any of the jacks here when I went away, did I?" Dyche could keep his story no longer and burst out with : " It's bear-meat, man. A regular old grizzly at that." "What? got a bear! Well, If this is a piece of him it must have been the one old Noah had in the ark. Well, I'm glad he didn't get you. Where's the skin? How did you get him?" " The day j'^ou left camp I started out to look at that big trail where my herd went along. I thought there might be some satisfaction in looking at the track if I couldn't see the bears. The trail was a day old, but I followed along without exactly know- ing why. After following it for miles I started back to camp, and reached a grassy slope on the side of the mountain and sat down to rest in the edge of it. There was a willow patch in front, and to the east of me and across from the willows was an almost impenetrable forest of spruce trees. Flowing through an opening in this forest was a little stream which joined another rivulet flowing from the willows. As I sat on a log looking across this stream at the spruce forest I saw something moving among the trees, and from the glimpse I got of it among the spruce branches I thought it was a deer. I watched very carefully, expecting to see a big mule buck step out into the opening. " To my great astonishment a huge grizzly bear stepped from the forest at the opening made by the httle stream. What a monster he was! He must •If M i" ' ■ ■ i \ J i( I ,i !l--M 54 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. have been as big as a cow. The wind was in his favour, and getting scent of me he placed his front feet on a log and began sniffing the air. I could see his big head going up and down, and must confess that I felt a little chill run over me. The old Sharp's rifle always seemed so big and heavy before, but now I wished it was a cannon. I took the best aim pos- sible, holding my breath to prevent muscular move- ment, and remembering the advice of my father to always see that the sights were on the gun before pulling trigger, then I fired. The gun belched forth its load with a roar which was echoed by another roar from the bear. "Here he came growling, rolling, tumbling, fall- ing, jumping, and bellowing, making a terrific noise. I slipped off my shoes, reloaded the gun, placed a handful of cartridges in the crown of my hat by my side, and waited. I thought the whole gang might appear and wanted to be ready for any emergency. The old fellow came on towards me, and I determined that if he ever crossed that stream I would give him another 520-grain bullet. He would get tangled up in a fallen spruce tree and would tear himself loose in a most wonderful manner. Now he was in the willows, rolling and tumbling and biting everything that was in his way. "His strength and activity were simply won- derful. One blow of his mighty paw would have killed the greatest prize-fighter that ever lived. I have heard stories of men killing grizzly bears with their knives, but I don't think it possible for twenty men to have stood before that bear A MONARCH DETHRONED. 66 in his death-agony. I could now see him very plainly, and could see that he was covered with blood and was getting weaker and weaker every minute as he came on towards me. Just as he reached the edge of the water he spread himself out on all-fours, and there continued throwing up his head, uttering most horrible groans and guttural grunts, while I sat cold and spell- bound under the great excitement. At last he died, seventeen minutes after he had received a ball which would have been instant death to an ox. Then I got up and went over to where he lay. " He was a monster indeed. Not fat but so mus- cular. Streams of blood were running from his mouth where he had broken his great teeth in Lis death- agony. I was under intense excitement, but I noticed that his legs were black while his sides and bnck were of a tawny tint. His tail was very short, so short, in fact, that he could not even sit down upon it. " It had been raining all day, but I never noticed it as I sat on the log watching the dying throes of the bear. I must confess that I had a pang of re- morse as I looked down at the dead monster. I had at last outwitted one of the giants of the forest, but in his death I had seen the qualities of a grand war- rior. After finishing my examination of the big fellow I turned about and went to camp, leaving him just where he had fallen. I reached the camp at dark, and would have given a good deal if you had been here to share the enthusiasm with me. "' There was no sleep for me that night. I went over that fearful struggle again and again, and when I dozed off I would wvake with a start from a m Wi ft % * : t if ^t. \ m 56 CAMP-FIRES OF A .NATURALIST. t t frightful dream of the bear. Next morning I was rested but not refreshed, and after a hurried break- fast I hastened down the canon where I had left the dead bear. It seemed at times as if it might all be a dream— but no, when I got to the spot there he lay, just as I had left him the night before, dead and cold. Having spent about two hours in taking seventy measurements for future reference, I skinned him. I found that the old fellow had been shot be- fore, for there were two bullets about the size of a forty-four Winchester imbedded in his body, one in his hip and the other in the shoulder. My ball hit him fairly in the neck, cutting the jugular vein and passed entirelj'' through the body, coming out about six inches from the tail near the spine. " I was almost worn out, but I carried the meat, skin, and head to the big snow-drift and buried them, and dragged myself to camp, where I ate a light supper and then rolled up in my blankets and slept until dawn next morning." During the succeeding days Dyche thoroughly dressed the skin. All fat and flesh were removed and the feet skinned down to the very toe-nails, and all ligaments removed from the bones. A prepara- tion of one part alum and four parts salt was now rubbed all over the skin. The feet and head were folded in and then saturated with a strong solution of the mixture. This operation was repeated in twenty-four hours and then again in twenty-four, and the skin was ready to be hung up to dry. ng I was 3d break- d left the it all be a re he lay, iead and 1 taking [ skinned 1 shot be- size of a y, one in f ball hit vein and )ut about he meat, ied them, e a light and slept loroughly removed lails, and . prepara- was now lead were I solution )eated in mty-four, t'i ilij 'I ■411 |l 4 I ,1 ■8 ) mu "They are sure good l)ear knives." '.hi CHAPTER V. Making a New Trail — The Btorm on the Mountain-Top— Neither Bear nor Elk — A Journey in Utter Darkness — Catching Foxes — Unwelcome Visitors — Brown's Ava- lanche — The Bear was Handicapped — An Experience with Ants and Fleas. JFTER several days of fruitL s search for more bears, it was decided that the ani- mals had left that particular part of the mountains, and the naturalists concluded to move camp. Cacheing the surplus meat in a snow-drift and packing the camp equipment on the backs of the burros, the little animals were headed towards the north star, and the party went through the woods, making a new trail. They did not have the least idea of where they were going, except that they wanted better hunting-grounds, where they might possibly get bear oi elk. It was said in that vicinity that elk had been seen on the ridge between the Pecos and Canadian rivers, and this ridge was made the objective point. Their way led through heavy spruce timber which lined the ridge, and about noon they reached an open mesa on the side of the mountain, which had been burned over. For this reason travelling was difficult and they were com- pelled to cut their way. While working through this down timber, two big ii'.. W I ; -i M !■■ i »l ► ^ i 1 1 ifi 08 CAMP FIRES OF A NATURALIST. mule bucks jumped up and started to run, going over and under the logs with remarkable ease. Getting sight of one of the bucks as it was going between the trees about three hundred yards away, Dyche fired, but with no apparent result. Getting another op- portunity he shot again. The burros were left and search made in all directions for the deer; but noth- ing could be found, and Dyche was just about to give up when Brown, who had gone on about seventy yards farther, shouted : •' Here ! here ! here's your old buck, dead as a door- nail." Pushing on up the mountain, camp was made at dark by a spring on the west slope. This place re- ceived the name of Camp Wild Bunk, but, owing to later developments, "was named Hungry Caiion. Cacheing the greater portion of the venison in a snow- drift the next morning, they travelled three or four miles north until the ridge was reached. This was the watershed between the Rio Grande on the south and the Arkansas on the north, and led towards the Jicorilla Mountains, gradually rising and becoming narrower as it extended above timber-line. At one o'clock they reached a high point in the country, and from this place was seen one of the grandest sights in the high ranges. Off to the west was a vast ocean of mountain-tops, the timbered slopes being surrounded by high peaks, running above timber-line. The river, winding in the caiion far below, was a mere thread of silver among the trees, thousands of feet down. Through a narrow opening of the moun- THE STORM ON THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. 50 ng over Getting veen the be fired, thor op- left and Lit noth- t to give seventy 3 a door- made at place re- ;, ow^ing Canon, 1 a snow- 1 or four hiis was he south ards the ecoming in the e of the he west imbered running V, was a sands of e moun- tains was a view of the plains far to the east, which, with the rough, rock-girt frame, presented a picture as of the field of the cloth of gold. The purple hills made a rich, dark foreground, while the golden sun- light flecked the prairie with the colour of living fire. So entranced with the scene were they that the flight of time was forgotten, and when they returned to mundane things they realised that if they wished to camp where there was grass and water, they would have to be finding a way down to timber-line. Spend- ing an hour in this effort, they again glanced at the beautiful scene ; but now all was changed. Amass of clouds, through which lightning played, and which grew denser and denser as it came, was rolling up the valley of the Pecos. Flash after flash could be seen, and then faintly came the sound of thunder. The sight was interesting, and as they watched it their attention was called to the other side of the range by an answering reverberation. Looking down the Canadian valley, to the north, they saw another storm-cloud rolling towards the ridge upon which they stood. As the storms approached nearer and nearer they discovered that they would soon be in the midst of a battle of the elements. The sky became overcast and it grew dark. The play of lightning became fiercer and fiercer on both sides, and the peals of thunder soon merged into one continuous roar. Peal was answered by peal, and the echoes took up the terrible sound and sent it on and on until all space seemed filled with the tumul- tuous noise. There came a gust of wind, and then J,! \M\ • > i 4 ' . 1' i. •' ; 'V: St i 1 m pKWBiegjp J™HJ»«P»««lilI!iWI!iBBHH (! II l"» ; i ill ■I 60 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. for a second a noiseless calm was over all. Then the .two clouds rushed to the top of the intervening ridge, and the space between them seemed filled with one ■ continuous sheet of flame. The whole mountain was the battle-ground and heavenly fire the weapons in this awful contest , of the elements. Lightning flashed through the air in all directions. Rocks rolled down the side of the mountain, while a hail-storm sent missiles over the valley. The burros huddled to- gether and trembled at the raging of the elements, while Dyche and Brown threw themselves flat on the ground and sor> i ^ f It !l i' W i) I) > fi h It < Vi 1 ■ 1' i Is 64 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. them for further exertions. The day following, Dyche was working with his giin, trying to extract an obstinate shell, when Brown camo hurrying into the tent with his e3^es dilated and his whole frame shaking with excitement. He pointed to a bunch of trees near by, where Dyche saw a magnificent buck, about seventy-five yards away. Dropping on one knee ho fired just as the animal was disappearing amid the timber. The buck was found dead a hun- dred yards from the place where he was shot. It was evident that in this part of the country there was little game which they wanted, and next day the skins and venison were packed on the donkeys and the back trail taken. At Camp Wild Horse a stop was made, and Brown took the donkeys and with all the spare meat started for Harvey's ranch, leaving Dyche alone in the mountains. To while away the time during the seven days of Brown's absence, Dyche amused himself with trap-setting. He saw some martens catching conies in the rocks and suc- ceeded in getting two of them. He carried the big bear-trap down into the caiion and set it, and went every morning and evening to see it. A V-shaped pen of logs was made and the trap set in this. Foxes were cunning enough to climb over the logs and eat the bait. To prevent this the top of the pen was cov- ered with brush, and then the foxes dug holes under the logs. Dyche now had a time of it to outwit the little animals. He set traps around the logs, but the foxes evaded them. Then he set traps away from the pen and had the satisfaction of catching the robbers. Six days had passed in this way, and on the morn- owing, extract ig into frame inch of t buck, on one pearing a hun- L'y there day the eys and I a stop with all leaving vay the ibsence, He saw nd suc- the big went shaped Foxes ind eat as cov- under wit the 3ut the rem the obbers. morn- UNWELCOME VISITORS. ing of the seventh Dyche had started for the bear-ti .""p, when he saw Brown coming up the caiion. " How did you _,Qt here so early in the morning? " was the greeting. " I got within half a mile of camp last night before sundown, but clouds and fog settled down so that I did not like to risk coming on in the dark." Brown had the mail and plenty of provisions, which were badly needed, for Dyche had had only two biscuits since Brown left. " I had visitors while you were away," said Dyche, after they had eaten breakfast. " You remember that camp-fire that we saw down in the valley? Well, I think the fellows who built that fire came up to boo me, and from their appearance and actions I think they meant no good. I saw them coming and made it a point to be cleaning the guns when they came up. They talked Spanish, but when they found that I could not understand it they talked good English and asked me many questions about my business and why I was up here. I told them the truth, showed my specimens, and convinced them that I was all right, and at last they went away. I was not at all satisfied with the interview, and when they had gone I started to hunt and skirted along the edge of the wxhmIs where I could watch them. They went down into the valley and met another man who was taking care of the horses. I think they were a band of horse-thieves, and I lay behind a log all that night, and if they had come fooling around thov \> ould liave had a reception which they did ihit bargain for." A fine v/hite-tailed bu( ^ whi- h had betm eluding ■m I' ' : ■1 :' 'EV'J^;;^'- <'i( ^i ' i ] w na ^ 66 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. Dyclie for a week fell victim to his gun that after- noon, and next morning Brown took the shot-gun and went down the canon. Dyche was looking after his fox-traps, and had just found one in which there was a beautiful brown fox when he heard a report down the carton as if from a cannon. Brown had evidently- touched off " Old Vesuvius," as the shot-gun had been christened by the cowboys. Dyche gave a signal but got no answer. Darkness came, but no Brown. Becoming much alarmed lest some accident had be- fallen his companion, Dyche hurried down the canon, calling now and then but getting no response. About two hundred yards from camp he heard a slight noise and called out. A muffled answer was returned, and then he was sure Brown had been badly hurt. Hastening down he found. Brown staggering up the mountain with a big doe on his back. His face was black and blue and his clothing covered with hair and blood. A deep scratch ran along the side of his nose, and taken altogether he was a most dilapidated-looking object. He had fired both bar- rels of the gun at once, and, being unused to such a heavy charge, had been kicked over by the heavily loaded weapon. Next day Brown took his insect-net and Dyche his rifle and they wandered off looking for what they could find. Dyche was first to return and had sunper ready when Brown reached camp. Brown had a good story eo tell and began while they were still eating : "Say, Prof, do you remember that old crag of loose rock wo passed as we came into this caiion? BROWN'S AVALANCHE. 67 Well, I was looking for insects around in that vicinity, but could not find many. After fooling around trj-- ing to kill soT^ie grouso with rocks, I got one by hitting it on the head. I climl^ed up on that crag. There was a big rocky mass which was split off from the rest, and I got a pole and tried to pry it off. I worked for nearly two hours, for I wanted to see it go down the mountain. At last it got loose, and how it did go! I wish you could have seen it. The big rock started a hundred others and this hundred a thousand more. You would have thought the whole top of the mountain had fallen. It frightened me as I thought there might possibly have been someone at the bottom of the canon. A cloud of dust and smoke arobe which had the smell of tho infernal regions, while the noise was terrific." When he finished his story Dycho, who had been listening quietly, said he had had an adventure also. " When I left camp I went north and then circled east and worked along the edge of the caiion. Seeing about a dozen big mule bucks in a band, I started to stalk them. Working very slowly and crawling carefully, I got within two hundred yards of them. There was a bunch of S(;rubby spruce trees about sev- enty-five yards to the east of them on the edge of the canon, and I determined to get to that clump, where I could have my pick of the band. Leaving my hat and shoes behind, I worked my way along and got almost there. Twenty-five yards more and the trees would be reached. I stopped to get my breath a little, when a regular earthquake seemed to break loose. An immense crag away up on the side of the moun- ' i m I' "i 1 '■,;.• .Ml • If} ilil i ii ilil I tK m 'V I. 68 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. tain broke from its place and came down into the canon. The first stone started hundreds of others, and these hundreds started thousands more, and they came down with a terrible noise. Dust and smoke arose and a smell as of the infernal regions came from the bottom. When it was over the deer were gone and I came back to camp." As Dycho proceeded with his story and ended in almost the very words of Brown, the latter stopped eating, his jaw dropped, and when the story was finished his only comment was : "Well, I'll be darned!" Satisfying themselves that no bears were to be found in this part of the mountain, they started for old Camp Bear Trail next morning, and late in the evening they pitched their tent in the familiar spot. The bear-trap was again set in the canon, but several days passed without special incident. Dyche and Brown made a long trip to the west and returned late in the evening, tired from their exertions. While Brown took the burros to water, Dyche set about getting supper, and had it well under way when Brown rushed into camp, calling : "What is that roaring in the canon?" An answer was unnecessary, for the sound was so plain that both shouted at once : "A bear! a bear!" Brown seized the shot-gun without waiting to see whether it was loaded or not, while Dyche got the rifle and a handful of cartridges, and away they went down the cafion. The roaring continued and grew louder and louder, and the two men 'm ■M. * m ! t' '-1' THE BEAR WAS HANDICAPPED. W went over bushes, logs, stumps, and even small trees in their haste. Brown fell over a bush and lost the shot-gun, but was in too great a hurry to pick it up, and on he went, shouting at the top of his voice. The noise was closer now, and appeared to be a cross be- tween the roar of an African lion and the bellow of an enraged bull. Then the bear came in sight. He was going down the canon as fast as the big fifty-pound trap fastened to his leg would let him. The long chain was fastened to a twenty-five-foot pole, and this caught in the rocks and bushes, detaining bruin in his frantic efforts to get away from his pursuers. " Shoot him, Professor, shoot him !" yelled Brown. At the sound of his voice the bear stopped and looked back. He now tried to get the trap from his foot by beating it with his paws and biting it until his mouth was bloody and his teeth broken. A ball from the rifle knocked the bear down, but he was up in an instant and was going down the canon faster than ever. Another ball sent him to grass again, but he would not stay down, and then a third ball knocked him over so hard that he could not get up. He now went through a series of wild contor- tions, rolling and tumbling, roaring and bellowing in a most terrible manner. Ho had received his death- wound and Dyche let him alone to die, wdiich took about fifteen minutes. Then the naturalists shook hands, executed their favourite war-dance, and did numerous seemingly foolish things with which all hunters can sympathise,. Their victim was meas- ured and skinned and left where he fell until morning, for no animal would touch a dead bear. 3>> -I I *di i*» 70 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. \\ sr :• Tho excitement of the bear-hunt made them forget for the time being how tired they were, but now that it was all over they went slo\vly back to f^et their supper. In the light with tho boar they had travelled nearly two miles down the cafion, and were almost exhausted when camp was reached. In their haste to get to the bear Brown had forgotten to tie up old Reuben, and that animal utilised the opportunity by doing uj) the camp while they were doing up the bear. Ho first made a raid on the little polo table made between the trees and cleaned it off. He ate the apple-sauce and licked the dish. Tho last half- pound of butter followed this. Tho soap was gone. A piece of bacon had been pulled down and mouthed until it was useless. The dish-cloth had been chewed, and when found the old reprobate had just finished the batch of hot bread which had been left baking in tho Dutch oven covered with coals. Reuben had poked tho cover off without burn- ing himself and finished the bread. Such inci- dents are amusing to look back upon or to tell about, but just at that time it was the straw which broke the hearts of the naturalists. Reuben's head was tied close to a tree, where he was left to repent of his sins, which he undoubtedly did, for next mornijig he made a light luncheon off of one of Brown's socks which had been hung on a bush to dry. That afternoon a voice was heard calling away down the canon. Wondering who it could be, Dyclie and Brown went down to render aid if aid was needed. It was Clare, who had made the trip up ANTS AND FLEAS. n into those wild mountains alone. Ho Bhared Brown's bed on one side of the tent, while Dycho occupied the other. About midnight the sleepers were aroused by an appalling din, and Clare bolted through the tent entrance without waiting to untie the strings. He stood by the fire yelling at the top of his voice. " What's the matter with you? Have you got the nightmare?" asked Brown. "Ants! ants in my pants!" yelled Clare, as he rubbed his legs and tried to dislodge the insects. He was scolded into returning to bed, and the camp had barely got settled down again when the racket broke out once more, but this time it was Brown, and he was immediately followed by Clare. "Ants! ants!" they screamed. Dyche grumbled at them for disturbing him and asked why they could not make less noise. "It's Brown that's got the nightmare," said Clare. " It isn't so funny now." Just then Dyche felt as if a piece had been bitten out of his leg, and he gave a jump and shout that told the others that they were not alone in their misery. The rest of the night was spent in searching for the voracious insects and driving them out. The tent had been pitched near the site of a big ant-hill, but it was supposed that all the insects had been cleared out. At break- fast in the morning Brown suddenly dropped his plate and seized his leg with an exclamation. " I've got him, sure, this time," he said, and an in- vestigation revealed no ant, but a big reddish flea. The whole thing was plain now. There were no ants, 6 HI • f i- i \-'. 4 1 ■< i ! 1 ill i. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 '" ''^ ill 2-2 li'-o 111112.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^^^^^■"^ ^^^■■™— ■ 1 ■ ■■!■■■ "^ 6" ► U 'VW'# 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation v 4^ ^ \ •^ \ \ V V 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSBO (716) 873-4S03 %> I i( »» 73 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. but the bear-skin, which had been deposited near the tent, was full of fleas, and when the skin got cold the insects had made an excursion in search of warmth and food, which they found under the blankets in the tent. That evening there was a grand feast in the camp with bear-meat, brisket of deer, and good appetites. Then came a general bear talk. Bear-meat was tough and stringy and jumped under the teeth like a piece of india-rubber. Some was roasted and some was boiled, but it was all tough and had a peculiar flavor. " Is all bear-meat as tough as this?" asked Brown. " No. I've eaten the meat of black bear that was very nice and tender," answered the professor. "It tasted like pork. I presume a young grizzly would not be bad eating." " How big do bears get?" asked Clare. " Well, that's hard to tell. According to some re- ports they occasionally exceed two thousand pounds, but I don't think there are many so large. From the best information I am able to obtain I don't believe they get larger than twelve hundred pounds. I was told by an old hunter that he saw a bear in Califor- nia that weighed between eleven and twelve hundred pounds and it was a monster. It was kept in captiv- ity and had been fed every day until it was very fat." " How large do black bears get?" " Ordinarily between two hundred and three hun- dred and fifty pounds. I heard of one taken in Idaho which weighed four hundred and twenty-five pounds." t\ux uiii ' mAa w iMiim BEAR TALK. 78 " How many kinds of bear are there in this coun- try?" asked Clare. "Only two, the grizzly and the black." " Well, how about the silver-tip and the cinnamon?" " I was just going to say that the cinnamon is a variety of the black, while the silver-tip is a smaller form of the grizzly. Bears vary greatly in size, even when full grown. They also vary much in colour, ranging from a light yellowish-brown to almost jet- black. I have seen the skins of young grizzlies al- most as light-coloured as wolves. The feet and lower part of the legs are, however, dark, shading from black to various tints of brown. The colour also de- pends on the season. In the spring the old shaggy hair ia much lighter than the new fall coat. This wide range in colour and size of the grizzly has done much to encourage the notion that there are different kinds of grizzlies in the United States. The cinna- mon or brown l)ear seems to be only a colour variety of the black. Those who claim that these bears are different species say that the black and cinnamon cross and make the different colours. This is really an argument against the claimants, for different spe- cies of animals do not cross. If they did they would merge finally into one single species. The silver-tip seems to be a well-marked variety of the grizzly." " How could one tell a silver-tip grizzly from a cin- namon?" asked Brown. " A grizzly can usually be distinguished by the fact that his front claws are twice as long as his hind ones. They sometimes reach the length of five inches. In the black or cinnamon there is not such a marked I u 'I 'if 74 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. I difference. The colour of black or brown bears is more uniform throughout, while the colour of the griz- zly is variegated. The grizzly also has a more dis- tinct mane, which stands up between the shoulders, sometimes reaching a length of five or six inches. The feet of the grizzly are always broad and thick as compared with those of the black bear." " How large are bears when they are born?" "About the size of Norway rats. The old bear generally has twins and sometimes triplets. An Indian gave me some young ones which he said were about two weeks old. They were about the size of Newfoundland puppies." " Do bears hibernate?" asked Brown. " Yes, after a fashion. Not in the ordinary sense of the word. They do not get torpid. They usually *den up' in the colder parts of the winter. These dens are simply nests of leaves and grass under the roots of some overturned tree. Here the bear stays until the weather gets warm, unless he is disturbed, and then he is 'up and coming.' " " Do bears voluntarily attack people?" asked Clare. " If you suddenly came upon an old female with cubs she would probably show fight just as a cow moose, an old sow, or any domestic animal would. A wounded bear will aJso fight just the same as any other wounded animal." " You don't mean to say that all those stories about bears attacking people are false, do you?" asked Brown. " Most of them are undoubtedly so. Bears are the most cunning animals in the mountains. I have BEAR TALK. 70 come upon their beds while they wore still warm, but the bears were gone without my even getting a glimpse of them. No matt^er how sly I am, they are pretty sure to hear me and go scurrj'ing through the woods as fast as their legs will carry them. Their senses of hearing, smelling, and seeing seem to be marvellously developed." " What do they feed on?" " That depends to a considerable extent upon the country in which they live. Like the hog, they take anything they can get. They will take meat, rob birds' nests and suck the eggs, catch frogs, eat fish ; they are very fond of vegetables, berries, and tender roots, and they will eat ants and other insects and even worms. They are very fond of acorns and go a long way after them. In Washington and British Columbia they desert the mountains when the salmon are running and live along the streams." The hunt was now over and the skins and meat were packed to Harvey's ^^anch, where the naturalists said farewell to their frienus and returned to civili- sation. I ^, II 8k '/I I f' CHAPTER VI. A Peculiar Wedding- Journey — Field Taxidermy — A Typical Mountaineer — Big Bear Talk — The Cabin was Looted — A Lost Timepiece — A Great Day for Talking. jLL was bustle in Paradise Valley one May morning two years after the events nar- rated in the preceding chapter. Harvey was reading to Mrs. Harvey and Allie a letter, the gist of which was as follows : " Meet me with the burros. I have two compan- ions and am coming to spend the summer with you." It was from Dycho, and this announcement was the cause of the commotion. Everyone was impa- tient for the pack-train to bo off, even old Reuben seeming to know that something out of the ordinary had happened, for instead of hanging back and caus- ing trouble when the train started, he walked sedately to his place and waited for his saddle. Dyche and his companions had travelled the twenty-five miles from Las Vegas to the foot of the mountains in a wagon, and were now waiting for the arrival of the pack-train from the mountain ranch. Their baggage had been dumped on the ground at the edge of a little Mexican village on the banks of the Qallinas River, and here they made their camp. The home life of the Mexicans, as seen from the door of their tent, served to while away the time 76 iiiM A PECULIAR WEDDINQ-JOURNEY. 77 of waiting. The fact first observed was that every mau and woman in the village was an inveterate cigarette-smoker. The children had driven their herds of goats to the mountains and the lazy oxen were drawing their creaking and groaning carts or haul- ing heavy logs to the sawmill, which puffed and buzzed a short distance down the river. Fires were started in the big out-door beehive oven ready for the week's baking, and village life was in full blast, when the campers were startled by a loud hail in a voice that to Dyche had a familiar ring. " Ha-o, there ! Como le va?" "Como le va yourself." "Who's this you've got with j^ou?" "This is my wife. I'm married now," replied Dyche. " Well, I want to know I So you're married ! And you thought you would come to the finest country in the world for your wedding-trip?" " I see that you haven't lost old Reuben yet," "Lost him? Why, you couldn't lose him if you tried. He's just the meanest old burro in the whole country. He steals eggs and eats young chickens every chance he gets. If you and Brown had killed him for a specimen, when you were here, it would have saved me much trouble and bad temper. I had to bring him along, for I darsn't leave him at the ranch." " Well, why can't Mrs. Dyche ride him to the ranch? He's gentle enough and she will be in no danger in going over the trail." No sooner suggested than acted on, and the saddle t] i ' 78 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. I ,.*' was put on the old burro, and for the next six miles Mrs. Dyche exercised her arms trying to make him keep in the trail and up with the other donkeys. He had a mind of his own and would wander off to lunch on tempting bits of grass away from the trail. Her feeble efforts at punishment had about as much effect on him as tickling with a straw. Finally he was put in the middle of the train and better time was made. The ranch was reached by noon, and by night the party had become thoroughly domiciled, ready for the summer's campaign. The object of this year's trip was to put into practical operation an idea of Dyche's regarding field mounting of birds. The camp was placed by the side of a cool spring which gushed from the edge of a patch of quaking asps, while on the west was a heavy body of spruce. Stretching to the south for two or three hundred yards was a fine grassy meadow, merging into a jungle of willow and tag-alder bushes covering a piece of swampy ground. A small wall-tent was devoted to taxidermic operations, and soon became known as the museum. This tent faced south, overlooking the meadow, and was pre- pared for any emergency. Shelves arranged in one comer held the mounting outfit, which included a bunch of wire, a can of alum and arsenic, a bottle of benzine, a can of plaster-of -Paris, a case of the size and shape of a cigar-box containing a complete assortment of tools for skinning and mounting birds, a roll of manilla paper, and a few other articles. Under these shelves were kept rolls of cotton -batting and excelsior. A pole table served as an operating- ^gtjf^mmmm FIELD TAXIDERMY. 79 J desk, while a hollow log, sawed to the proper length and covered with buckskin, furnished the seat. On one side was a pole platform on which mounted birds were stored, while a similar one held the guns and ammunition ready for instant action. By noon on the second day the whole place was complete, and they were ready for anything of the bird kind from an eagle to a "hummer." Two beautiful long-crested jays perched them- selves on a limb in front of the tent and began an inspection which cost them their lives, and they were first to be immolated on the shrine of science. The advantage of field taxidermy was shown in the first day's work. The operator was not compelled to rely upon either memory or notes to ascertain the correct positions of birds, but from his desk could look into the trees and see the counterpart of the one in hand and thus get the natural poses and positions. This practice soon convinced Dyche that the live bird in its natural habitat was the only safe guide to be followed. Another point gained by field-work was in mounting many of the smaller birds which had such tender skins that it was next to impossible to carry them long distances before mounting. This was especially noticeable in the hummers, which, every taxidermist knows, are exceedingly difficult to mount after becoming dry. Ordinarily many skins are spoiled by oil oozing from the shot-holes, but when they are mounted immediately this can be obviated with little difficulty. Doves and pigeons, which are so difficult to mount from dry specimens, were handled very readily, and the fresh skins were i« f} /I H '^ lA 89 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. This is Biiro n g(X)d knifo. I made it myself out of a drill, and I inado this one t<30," drawing its mate from his lx)lt. The blades were twelve inches long and of finely tempered steel. "They're sure bear knives,. and long enough to reach a bear's heart. If a bear ever comes across this old man he will sure feel this knife in his heart. See these buckhom handles? I sure made them and killed the buck that wore the horns. " Beaty was a typical moimtaineer, and as he stood flourishing the big knives above his big sombrero, with his buckskin coat, ho looked a fit match for any bear that walked the range. His continued talk of what he would "sure" do and Dyche's knowledge of the power of the grizzly bear, made the latter a little dubious as to the outcome of a fight with Beaty and a bear as chief actors, but he kept his counsel and drew the mountaineer out until the woods were filled with the sound of his big bear talk. The first day passed pleasantly, barring the many "unpleasantnesses" between Reuben and his rider, and camp was made by the side of a spring in a grassy meadow. The second day took the party through a long stretch of burned timber; the donkeys caused much trouble by continually running into snags and tearing their packs. Camp was made on the slope of the mountain, near a bunch of quaking asp and spruce trees. As the train approached the spot an old hen grouse flew up, and while the sup- per was being prepared the young grouse could be heard "peeping" in the grass and bushes. Mrs. Dyche could not rest until the little fellows had been m 1 -— mm Bia BEAR TALK. M caught and snuggled under a blanket, where they siMjnt the night cosily; and next moniing when they all ran about, alive and .j y\ Dyche did not regret having spent an hour on i is hands and knees in search of them the night before. The mother grouse flew down from j eighbouriug tree as tiie train moved away, and Mrs. Dyfiu^'s heart was made glad with the knowledge ihn ' the grouse family was reunited. "Do you see that pile of stones?" asked Beaty, pointing to a heap of small rocks which had evidently been thrown together for some purpose. '* A few years ago it was sure very dry on the plains, and Mexican herders brought their sheep up into the mountains where they could get grass and water. One old man had $10 in his pocket and he was killed and robbed by some of his companions. When his friends carried his body out, wherever they stopped to rest they would make a little pile of stones, and now whenever a Mexican passes along he adds a stone to the pile and says a prayer for the rest of the murdered man's soul." " Is that the reason there are so many little stone piles throughout New Mexico?" asked Dyche. " No, not always. They are made to commemo- rate some incident. They've sure got some queer superstitions, and one of their religious ones is the queerest." "What's that?" " A lot of them go up on Hermit's Peak, over there, and crawl around on their hands and knees among the cactus bushes and on the stones, exposing them- i < i-r^i' 84 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. selves to hunger and thirst. They sure die from it sometimes." " Why do they call it Hermit's Peak?" " An old Mexican hermit used to live there, and when the people went there they took him things to cat. They say he had a gold-mine up there and he sure had lots of gold. He hid it all away when he left, and it has never been found. There's sure gold there, but I've not found it yet. I've got colours, though." So Beaty beguiled the way with his stories, and as they were going down into a grassy valley he sud- denly stopped the train and called out : " See that willow thicket there? Well, I sure saw a bear there. You see that old log there? Well, when I got there I heard a mighty noise in those willows and four bears came out all at once. I thought they had it in for the old man, but I just threw myself down by tho side of that big log, iorked out both knives, and if the bears had come I sure would have done some of them. When they saw that I was sure ready for them they got out of there in a hurry. As I lay there four bears went hustling up the other side of the mountain. This is sure a great country for bears." Late in the afternoon, when within a few rods of the cabin of the miner, the train was again called to a halt, and Beatj', pointing to a large tree, said : "See that tree there? I met an old gr'-'^ly there. I'd been fishing and was coming to the ranch. I had thirty fish on a stringer, not one less than twelve inches long, and was within thirty feet 1 ■ "^ J 'TSSSSSfiSSR! THE CABIN LOOTED. 8S of a bear before I saw him. I skinned up that tree in a hurry, and that bear came along and ate up every one of those fish and then licked the stringer. He then looked at me and walked ofiP about his business as if nothing had happened." "Why didn't you kill him with your big bear knives?" asked Dyche. " I had left my knives at the cabin or there would have been the worst bear-fight ever seen in these mountains." "He would have killed you, Beaty, before you could have hurt him with a knife." " He would have had some fun doin' it. I would have thrown myself down on my back. That is sure the way to fight a bear. When he came up I would have plunged both knives into him. It would sure have fixed him too." All this bear talk had a depressing effect upon Mrs. Dyche, and as the party moved on towards the cabin they saw that a bear had recently been there. The little garden had been torn up and the big tracks could be seen everywhere. "See, there are bears here. The woods are full of them." Unlocking the door of the little two-roomed cabin, Beaty stepped inside, but at once bounced out with his eyes distended and his whole face showing great excitement. " I've sure been robbed. Somebody's taken every- thing I had, even my gun and pistol. There ain't enough left for one meal. I'll follow them if I ever strike their trail they'll bo mine." il ' 4;; I -"A I \A I tiw 80 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ; f !!'J r m i ' i' ■ ! : (I V I i He raved and howled until the air seemed to take on a pale blue tinge and smelled sulphurous. Mrs. Dyclie concluded it would be well to go down and watch the water run in the river while Dyche tried in vain to calm the enraged miner. The cabin had been completely looted, to all appearances. Beaty pointed to places where he had had a ham or a side of bacon hanging or where a can of syrup stood, but these places were all vacant now. He took a wide circuit around the place to find a trail, but all in vain. The only tracks to be seen were those made by Beaty himself during his last visit. Down by the river were seen small tracks, like those of a woman, and Beaty came in full of the idea that he had dis- covered the whole plot. " There was a white man with a Mexican woman and they had a train of burros, for they could never have carried off all that stuff on their backs. I will sure find them if it takes my whole life. " All night long the visitors could hear their host grumbling, and ever and anon he would break out with oaths that would make Mrs. Dyche shudder. Beaty was up early and started off down the Pecos River to his nearest neighbour, twenty-five miles away, in hopes of getting some trace of the despera- does. Dyche and his wife concluded that it would bo best to get out of the countrj'* themselves, and notwithstanding they had just had a hard three-days' trip up the mountains, they started back for Harvey's ranch. They had plenty of provisions and the river was full of fish, but the talk about bears and the experience with robbers were too much for Mrs. I' l\ mm THE CABIN LOOTED. 87 Dyche. The first night on the way down some wild animal frightened the donkeys so that they rushed into camp for protection and kept the travellers awake the balance of the night. Next day they left the main trail and went off to Bear Trail Camp. It seemed like getting home again to Dyche. Two years had passed since the last visit, but everything was just as he had left it. An old dish-rag still hung on a peg in the tree, while on the pole table sat the wooden bowl, carved out with so much pa- tience by Brown. Cans and tin pans wore hanging in their accustomed places, while even the firewood which had been placed in a dry nook was still there ready for the fire. Sticking from the roots of the tree was the neck of a bottle of syrup, now greatly improved with age. The two were soon comfortable, and after five days' continuous travelling on a rough trail the rest was welcome. Dyche knew every foot of ground around the camp as well as he did his father's pasture, and he started out to find a deer. Mrs. Dyche had seen so many bear signs that she insisted that he should not go out of hearing. There were so many evidences in the great holes where bears had wallowed, or where they had turned over the logs and stones, or scratched the trees, that she was sure she saw a bear in every blackened stump on the mountain. Late in the afternoon Dyche was sitting at the edge of a little meadow, concealed by a bunch of willows. Just as the sun touched the western mountain- tops a deer came to the edge of the woods about three hundred yards from where Dyche was sitting. The r K :l[ V4 j'l I ;■ ■■«'! 88 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ; 1 '•r : j| I I 1 i.l animal was very cautious and stepped along care- fully, watching for the least sign of danger. He finally stepped from the timber and began nipping the leaves and grass and feeding towards where the hunter was concealed. He fed along so slowly that it became a race between the deer and the sun. At last the sun disappeared and darkness came on rapidly. Dyche was uneasy lest his wife should drop a pan or make some other noise which would startle the deer. It became so dark that the sights on the rifle were not distinguish, ble, and when the deer came within fifty yards Dyche fired his shot-gun. The animal gave several great jumps and Dyche did not wait to see if his shot had been fatal, but he sent a ball from the rifle after it and the deer sank to the ground. Calling Mrs. Dyche, who took charge of the guns, he dressed the deer and carried it to camp. A hot supper of venison liver, biscuits, coffee, and syrup convinced them that they had chosen well in coming to the mountains. Two days were spent at Camp Bear Trail, and they lived as happily as if they had been domiciled at some summer hotel. When they had left Harvey's ranch, eight days before, the place was comparatively quiet, with only Harvey, his wife, and Allie there. As they ap- proached on their return, however, they were made aware of the fact that a change had come since their departure. Voices, loud and strong, could be heard long before they reached the clearing. At the house they found several mountaineers sitting around, "swapping lies" about their varied adventures. There was Fly, the mica-miner, he of the strong f A GREAT DAY FOR TALKING. 80 frame and equally strong lungs. He was a talker, and the tones were of such a pitch and volume that the tops of the highest hills echoed them back. Then there was Levette, called for short "Cockeye." Levette wanted to talk and was continually trying to get in a word, but he was entirely too slow for the crowd he was now with. The inevitable " I was just goin' to say" never got beyond his tongue's end until some readier talker broke in, and it was ne^ er known what he was going to say. Eames, who had never been defeated in a talking-match, was there, and then there was Harvey, who had had forty-nine years' experience at it. All had something to say, and none cared what the others had done; so the result was that all talked at once. Dyche was some- what of a talker himself, and when he got into the crowd he was anxious to tell of his experience at Beaty's cabin. The result of all this was that when Mrs. Harvey announced that the haunch of venison was sufficiently baked and that dinner was ready, there were xlve men all talking at the top of their voices, each sandwiching in his story wherever he got an opportunity. While Mrs. Harvey and Mrs. Dyche stood in the door of the kitchen laughing at the exertions of the talkers, in walked Beaty. Now Boaty carried off the palm as a talker in that region, and when he began all others were compelled from the sheer force of necessity to stop. Beaty had a story to tell and he told it. His voice soon made itself felt in the general pandemonium, and the others gradually quieted down until he had the floor to himself. But he talked under difficulties. He ■ I if ! i^ \ 3 I jt ,'' ■Vi ,.^*1 ' 1 ■' 1:J % iH a" 00 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. »l f 111 ' !i would hardly get started before someone would break in, and then all would go at it again. " You remember when I left you, Professor. Well, it was just eight o'clock in the morning, and at just two o'clock in the afternoon I was at the ranch, twenty-five miles down the Pecoo. " Hero Fly broke in : " That was no walking. In California I walked from Elk Creek down to Gold Gulch, forty-two miles, in just eight hours and " Here someone else broke in, and the story of some great walk had to be told by each one, and Beaty was compelled to wait until the flood passed and then started fresh again. " At the ranch I found my old partner, Everhart, and he told me that he heard I was sick down to Vegas. He sure sent a boy up to the ranch to look after things until I could get back. The boy stayed there about a week and then a big bear came around the place and would not go away, although he shot at it through the window. The boy was scared, and dug a hole under the floor and buried everything in the cabin in the hole. He took all the dirt down to the river and threw it in and smoothed the place over. Sometimes he wore a pair of my old shoes and made big tracks around the place. " "Well, I want to know!" " By the great wars !" " I was just goin' to say " " I thought yoa could have smelled it." "You couldn't smell anything but brimtitone around there when Beaty got there." " That boy knew what he was about." h {'I m «1 A GREAT DAY FOR TALKING. 01 " He sure fooled the old man." And so the changes were rung on all the exclama- tions the crowd could think of. The talk continued on this subject until dinner was over, and then as a fine, drizzling rain was falling, conversation drifted into other channels, while the men crowded around the big fireplace. Harvey started the ball by laughing at Fly's hunt after a bear. " When you and Brown took those two big bears out of the country and told of tho eleven others you had seen, these fellows up here thought you didn't know a thing about hunting or you would have got the whole lot. What they know about hunting bear or anything else I don't know, but from the way they talked you would have thought the wootls were full of bear-hunters. Fly, Beaty, Levette, and some others got up a big bear-hunt, and from the preparations they made one would have supposed they were going to have all the game in the woods. They were each going to have a boar-skin overcoat, and Rhea and me were each going to have a skin apiece for rugs. They borrowed every old shooting-iron on the place except that old cap-and-ball pistol of mine and started out. They wouldn't take provisions with them, for they said it was a mighty poor hunter that couldn't kill his own meat. They all 'lowed that the pro- fessor was a good deer-hunter, but he didn't know a little bit about bear. As they pulled out up the hill. Fly he hollered back to Rhea and said : 'When you see us coming down the mountain put the skillet on with plenty of grease, for we'll have bear-liver for supper.' ii iJ 4i m t 1 ' 99 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. " Well, when they got away I took your old bear- trap down the caiion and set it. A bear had been around the night before where a calf had died, and I thought I might got him in the trap. We got a bear in the tiap sure enough, and when they came down the mountain Rhea had a good mess of liver in the pan frying for them. Talk about hungry wolves. Those fellers were the hungriest set you ever saw. They hadn't had a square meal since they left, and as soon as they got in the house they began grabbing everything in sight. They couldn't wait for dinner, but took cheese, crackers, and everything else they could lay their hands on. Well, they sat down and began eating. They couldn't tell what kind of meat it was. They thought it tasted like liver, but knew I hadn't butchered, and when they asked, we told them it was the bear's liver they told us to cook." The others here broke in with 30 many interrup- tions that Harvey was compelled to desist. But he had told his story, and now it was Fly's time to tell what he knew. " I'll tell you that story straight. I ve been listen- ing to them talk for the last two years and I've got the whole thing straight. I'm onto the true in- wardness of the whole business. We had a hard time up in the mountains after the bear we didn't get, and when we got back we had the bear-liver for supper all right enough, but you never saw two such scared people in all your born days as Harvey and his wife. I knew there was something back of their story, so I just kept my ears open, and this is the story of 'how we killed the bear.' A GREAT DAY FOR TALKING. r- )n I a ine " Harvey set the trap down the cafi'on and an old foolish black bear came along and got his foot in it. Next morning Harvey went down to milk, and when he saw that the trap was gone he ran back and went clear through the house before he could stop. He dropped the milk-pails and went yelling at every jump, so badly scared that he almost fainted. Mrs. Harvey was so frightened that she couldn't say a word. Harvey ran to the gun-rack and then began cussin' us fellows for taking away all his guns. Then he tore around in the bedroom and out in the kitchen until Mrs. Harvey found her voice and asked: 'What's the trouble. High?' *A bear! a bear!' was all the answer she got, for just then Harvey found his pistol and bolted oflf down after the bear. Mrs. Harvey followed with the axe, calling for High to come back or he would be killed. " They rushed down to the corral where the trap had been, and sure enough it was gone. 'It was right here, Rhea. See, it is gone. Look where he tore up the brush. There he is — there he is ! Get back, Rhea; you don't know anything about hunting bear. Get back, I say : if he should get here he would kill you, ' Harvey kept yelling at the top of his voice, and then Mrs. Harvey would chime in, telling Harvey to keep back or he would be killed. She grabbed his arm and hung on, telling him not to go close to the bear, and then AUie came running down to see what it was all about, and Mrs. Harvey had a time of it trying to keep them both from the bear. Harvey shot all six loads from the revolver into the bear, but it never stopped him. Then they had to go back to .:-! M CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ! the house to load up again. Mrs. Harvey begged High to let Allie go over to Hanson's ranch for help, and this made Harvey mad, because she thought he was not able to kill his own bear. Harvey put six more balls into the bear, and by this time the poor fellow got tangled up with the trap-chain and Harvey knocked him in the head with an axe." " Well, I want to know !" said Harvey. ** Do you believe that story, Dyche?" " Well, I don't know how you killed it, Harvey, but I do know that you sent me a fine black bear-skin with a dozen bullet-holes in it. The skull had been mashed, too." Dyche decided to make another trip to old Camp Bear Trail before the summer was over. The even- ing before the start was made Dyche took the shot- gun, loaded with dust-shot, and went around the meadow looking for bird specimens. Eames was carrying the rifle and wandered off to one side. Suddenly Dyche heard the well-known "thump, thump" of a frightened deer as it dashed through the wood, and he hurried to the edge of the timber to get a look at it. An old doe was just disappearing in the woods, and about thirty yards behind her was a beautiful fawn. About the same distance back of the fawn was Eames, going at break-neck speed, shouting at the top of his voice, " Here, here it is, Professor !" The doe bounded over the pole fence, and the fawn ran along trying to find a hole to go through. "Quick, give me the rifle," said Dyche. "The rifle? why, I set it down by the fence and A GREAT DAY FOR TALKING. M tried to catch the fawn. I'd have got it, too, if it hadn't been for the fence." " Catch the wind ! Why, that fawn can outrun any man. The old doe would have been as easily caught. " " Don't you fool yourself. Fd have caught it, sure. " "Our old dog Jack has tried to catch thofc fawn a dozen times," said Allie, "but ho never gets any nearer to it than you were." A disagreeable incident marred the pleasure of the final visit to Camp Bear Trail, and Mrs. Dyche had occasion to learn by experience what a real mountain storm could do. While the train was passing through a tract of burned timber, where there was no shelter of any kind, a f torm broke suddenlj'-, the first warning being a clap of thunder. It rained a little and then hail poured down as if from an ele- vator chute. Eames and Dyche bunched the burros and covered them with rubber blankets, and under this hastily improvised shelter Mrs. Dyche crawled, staying until the storm was over. It lasted for half an hour and then continued with intermissions, alternately raining and hailing all the afternoon. It was late in the evening when a fire was started at the old camp, and, suffering with toothache, earache, and headache, Mrs. Dyche longed for civ- ilisation. Rain continued so steadily that they decided to return to Harvey's, and the party reached there, wet, bedraggled, and worn out. While making their arrangements to return to civilisation, the mountain If! hi '<■ A iil Mill ■ 'h 06 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. streams were running torronta from the heavy rains. Over the top of Hermit's Peak rushed a magnificent waterfall, about eight feet broad at the top, changing to a fine mist before it reached the bottom of the caSon, a thousand feet below. \] IX ns. ent ing the ill 1-1 )> h:l|!^' 'M f* vm iVUll !fl I ! t i I .i-il 1 r hi I' i lilil -3 O P So ; I; Tfl !l) i: it o p 15 CHAPTER VII. In Indian Territory — A Frontier Fiddler — Life in a Dugout — Wild Turkeys, Wildcats, and other Wild Things — Surviv- ing a Blizzard — An Indian Dance — An Embarrassed Pro- fessor—Successful Hunting — The Extinction of the Wild Turkey. [n^N the approach of the next Christmas va- cation, Dyche arranged to make a collec- tion of the noblest game-bird in the world, the American wild turkey. With Professor Robinson, a veteran quail and rabbit hunter, he started for the Indian Territory, and a raw Decem- ber day found the two at Caldwell, Kansas, wrestling with a mob of hackmen and omnibus drivers. This was the terminus of the railroad leading to the land of the Indians. Engaging a light wagon, drawn by a stout pair of " buckskin" ponies, they reached Pond Creek just at dusk on the following day. A " dance" was in pro- gress, and had been going on for the last twenty-four hours. A tall Arkansan, called " Short" on account of his size, was sawing away industriously at a fiddle, producing sounds which, by a good stretch of a vivid imagination, might be called music. The vigour of the dancers was evidence that his well-meant efforts were fully appreciated by the congregated cowboys and their partners. It was the event of the 07 m .r' 5; I ll m I :!l ll ':U\)\ I i ! i r ■ f' H u 1 ll- ■ & if 98 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. season, and visitors were there from ranches miles away. Cowboys and Cherokee half-breeds were out in full force, and, to supply a deficiency of ladies, dresses were put on several of the cowboys, who acted the feminine part to the satisfaction of all. "Short don't play music outen er book," volun- teered tho lady of the house, " but he plays real tunes. He don't know a note from a cow-track, but he gets everythin' outen er fiddle there is in it, he does. He's ther best fiddler in the hull country, he is, and he allers stops till ther dance is dorio^ too, he does. This is nothin' now. You jest orter bin here las' night. There were over fifty here, and ther cowboj'S thet danced for girls was real good ones, too. It was ther best dance we ever had. Some er ther boys got a little too much licker, but jver'thin' went off real nice." Short continued his fiddling, and the cowboys kept time to the rhythm by patting their feet and hands, making such a noise that the tired travellers could not sleep. During the progi*ess of the entertainment a deputy sheriff came in with a prisoner, whom he was taking to Caldwell to jail. The oflficer got so interested in tho dancing that he forgot his prisoner, and the latter coolly walked out of the door and dis- appeared. He was not missed for some time, and then search Avas made for him with a lantern, but he made good use of his time and was not found. Thompson's ranch, on the Cimarron River;, sixty miles away, had been determined upon as headquar- ters for the hunt, and as the noise of tho dancing pre- vented sleep, Dyche and the professor started early, "^ " ' ' ^'JifflHffTtf - LIFE IN A DUGOUT. 00 and at daybreak were on the banks of the river. The road went directly to the water's edge, and conld be seen emerging from the other side, almost imme- diately opposite. Confident that they were at the ford the hunters drove in. The water was soon up to the sides of the horses, and the wagon was almost floating. There was evidently a mistake somewhere, but there was nothing to be done but go on, and after a hard struggle the opposite bank was reached. They afterwards learned that the road went down the river some distance before it crossed, and then came back on the other side to the point where it could be seen. Thompson's ranch was reached at dark. The house, or dugout, was a hole in a bank with a door in front, but no windows. It was filled with cow- boys, who were very hospitable and helped to care for the ponies and got supper for the travellers. Pipes were brought out after supper, and the ill-ventilated room was soon so filled with smoke that Dyche and the professor, who were not smokers, were compelled to make frequent trips to the open air for a chance to breathe. In the course of the evening it was learned that there was a turkey-roost about two miles down the creek, and one of the cowboys volunteering to guide the hunters, they made the trip. They had the pleasure of seeing a lot of squirrel nests, and returned to the hut after midnight. Early next morning, with heads dull from sleep- ing in the atmosphere of tobacco smoke, Dyche and ■ Robinson started for a hunt with cowboy guides. Robinson and Cimarron Jim went down the river, ill ■ f 100 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. i f\ ii r: S while Dyche and Buckskin Joe took the opposite direction. While working along through the patches of scrub -oak and over sand ridges, the latter two sud- denly came upon a flock of about seventy-five turkeys. Joe at once put spurs to his horse and rode after them. Dyche was compelled to follow, and after a chase of about two hundred yards they were almost on the turkeys. They jumped from their horses, but before they could get their guns ready the turkeys disappeared over a hill. The race was repeated with the same success several times. At last Joe shot from his horse, and the flock flew and sailed out of sight over the thicket of oak bushes. A query from Dyche elicited the answer that this was one of the chief ways of hunting Vv^ild turkeys among the cow- boys. A mile further they came upon three deer feeding, and were within seventy-five yards of them when they were seen. Without waiting for the man whom he was engaged to guide, Joe jumped from his saddle and pumpt d bullets after the deer as fast as he could work the lever of his Winchester. The deer disap- peared over the hill, but Joe affirmed that he had shot one through behind the shoulders, while he had hit another twice as it was going over the hill. Tying the horses to a swinging limb the trail of the deer was followed, but no sign of blood or a wounded animal was to be found. The day was cold, but the unusual exercise of walk- ing heated Joe to such an extent that he took off his overcoat and hue g it to a tree. Half a mile further on he discarded his chaj)erellos, or leggings, and hung I ^ LIFE IN A DUGOUT. 101 them up, intending to return for them on his horse. It soon became evident, however, that the cowboy was lost and could not find the horses. Dyche and Joe not being able to agree as to the proper direction to take, separated with the understanding that a signal shot was to be fired when the horses were found. After an hour's walking Dyche found Joe's horse, loose and grazing, but his own was nowhere to be seen. His signal brought the cowboy, who imme- diately mounted the animal and rode off after his clothing, saying that he would return and take Dyche to camp. As night was now coming on Dyche did not wait, but started for the ranch, which he reached just at dark. It was three hours later when Joe came in, tired out and without either overcoat or leggings. At midnight the noise made by some one stumbling into the dugout aroused everyone. It was Robin- son, who was almost exhausted. He and Cimarron . Jim had intended to stay all night at the hog ranch, but the guido got lost and wandered away, leaving the professor to look out for himself. Finding neither hogs rar jh,nor man, the professor made his way back to the home ranch, leaving his blankets with Jim. Knowing that the professor needed rest, Dyche gave up his sleeping-bag and said he would go out and hunt a little. As he shut the door he heard one of the cowboys remark : "Well, that feller wants turkeys worse than I do." The night was cold and frosty, and the stars gave sufficient light for Dyche to make his way up Turkey m ■A' ■ iJ .:tl I" ' i ' ^ V ? '['t , i" ; ^^1 t ' 1 L ! ■ t 1 -t 103 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. Creek. He walked slowly, examining all the hawk nests and other bunches in the trees, which in the dim light took on odd shapes, and in some instances resembled turkeys. Everything was quiet, and not even the hoot of an owl broke the stillness. While thinking of the lonesomeness a scratching and scram- bling on the ice of the creek attracted his attention, and Dyche saw a black object moving sar a water- hole. Thinking it was a raccoon he sent a load of shot at it, and it spread out on the ice. Drawing it ashore with a long pole, Dyche tied its legs together and prepared to hang it to the limb of a tree, when the peculiar feeling of its tail induced him to light a match to see his prize. He found that he had killed a magnificent otter. Wandering up the creek for an hour or two longer, he was just on the point of turning back when he espied a large object roosting in the top of a tall cot- tcnwood tree. After watching it for some time he decided that it was a big gobbler and fired a shot at it, taking the best aim that he could in the dim, light. The bird came down with a thump which told that the shot had been fatal. Tying its feet together and hanging it to a tree, Dyche found by the light of a match that he had killed a large golden eagle. After dinner next day Dyche started alone for the jack-oak thickets. He had had enough of cowboy guides and severed all connection with Joe. He made his way slowly through the thicket, over the low sand- hills, for two or three miles. Numerous places where turkeys had scratched away leaves searching for food were found. An occasional coyote was seen skulking ~T^ — m WILD TURKEYS, WILDCATS, ETC. 103 through the bushes, and now and then he had glimpses of white-tailed deer. Golden eagles were sailing above, and quails and prairie-chickens were flushed in innumerable covej's. Finally a bunch of twenty-five turkeys was seen running over a hill, and a circuitous route was taken to head them off. A careful stalk placed him within forty yards of three of the birds which were sciatching on a knoll, when the warning " pit, pit " told him he had been seen. A load of shot brought down a fine gobbler, weighing eighteen and a half pounds. As this was Dyche's first turkey and was a load of itself, the hunter was satisfied and immediately returned to the ranch. Approaching the ranch, he heard a fusillade which sounded as if a battle was in progress. Thirty or forty shots were fired within fifteen minutes, and the men were evidently working their Winchesters as rapidly as possible. Cimarron Jim, who was cooking, had left his fire and was saddling his horse, while the others were not to be seen. Dyche and Jim were soon in the saddle and going in the direction of the sound. At the head of a ravine were the two other cowboys, riding and shooting. Jim rode straight for the scene, while Dyche circled around the head of the ravine, which he reached just in time to see a large wildcat emerge from the brush and start across the open space. Putting spurs to his horse, Dyche headed the animal off and started it in another direc- tion, towards the timber. Again riding around it he drove it back, and while thus keeping it in the open- ing the cowboys on the other side of the ridge were almost splitting their throats yelling. Finally the '■!il !i I m f'\ i;^^ ■'ii 4 :«i V iHIL I If. 'firr 81,; ■) 104 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. M n cat made a straight run for the timber, and Dyche tried a flying shot at it with a charge of double-O shot, which tore up the ground all around the animal. The cat immmediately sat down and began to snarl and growl. Riding close, Dyche removed all the shot from a cartridge except about a dozen and killed the cat. One shot from the first load had hit it close to the spine, causing it suddenly to sit down. The cowboys insisted that there was another cat in the thicket, and a search was made which soon drove the animal out. It came running along a cow- path towards Dyche, who waited until the animal was within twenty-five feet of him. Seeing the hunter the cat crouched in the cow-path. It was too close for a shot with the heavy load in the gun, and Dyche got down from his horse and began extracting the shot. The cat waited, showing its teeth and snarling, until a dozen number 3 shot ended its career. Next day Dyche found a buck and doe and killed the former. Robinson came in with two fine turkey hens, and these, with several prairie-chickens and other small game, made a very respectable showing for the three-days' hunt. Robinson's time was up, however, and he was compelled to return to his home. Dyche accompanied him to Caldwell, and there pre- pared for a longer hunt. He made arrangements with three white men and an Indian for transporta- tion to Fort Reno, starting the same afternoon on the journey of one hundred and fifteen miles. Dyche had discovered that a man's blankets were considered public property, and in order to get rid of troublesome bedfellows and at the same time secure 1¥T ! I SURVIVING A BLIZZARD. 105 the greatest poasiblo benefit from bis bed, he had a sleeping-bag made of his bedding. The blankets were sewed together in the shape of a bag, and the whole was covered with heavy canvas. This " poke" excited the risibilities of his companions, but Dyche had the satisfaction of getting rid of certain insects which make very disagreeable sleeping companions. The first night's camp was made in the open prairie, and when the men saw how warmly Dyche slept while they shivered with cold all night, each vowed he would have a "sleeping-poke" as soon as pos- sible. About Jour o'clock in the afternoon of the third day a blizzard came upon them suddenly, while they were on the open prairie and far from shelter. The blind- ing storm soon prevented all travel, and they un- hitched the horses, tying them on the leeward side of the wagons, while the boxes and bags from the load were piled up as a partial protection from the cut- ting wind. Putting their blankets together, the three white men lay down " spoon fashion" to keep warm. The Indian found an old buffalo-wallow and spread his blankets there in the high grass and weeds. Dyche followed the example of the Indian and crawled into his sleeping-bag, which he fastened down by the canvas. He was soon fast asleep, and did not awaken until he felt the Indian pulling at his bedding next morning, to see if he was alive. The others were all alive, but were so cold and worn out that they could barely stir. Driving to the river a fire was started, and hot coffee and breakfast soon put new life into the party. Pushing on they ^\\m m i ^ 'I ^1 ■ t \m \% 106 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. reached Darlington, just across the river from Fort Reno, next day, Christmas eve. Dyche had a letter of introduction to the Indian agent, Colonel John D. Miles, who immediately took charge of the naturalist as his guest. Colonel Miles was sometli \ iig of a sportsman him- self, and readily gave information regarding the game of the Territory. His advice was that Dyche should go to Fort Cantonment, and arrangements were made that night with the driver of the buckboard that car- ried the mail, to take the hunter the sixty-five miles across the country to the fort. The trip was to be made in one day, and. the sour- visaged driver seemed doubtful as to Dyche's abil- ity to stand it; but the latter said he could if any- one else could, and they started. After ten miles of the roughest riding Dyche had ever experienced, he got out a strap and fastened himself to the seat. The cold wind blew across the bleak prairie at the rate of forty miles an hour, and by the time the half-way dugout was reached the naturalist was chilled to the bone. The driver told him that they changed drivers and teams there, and that if he thought he could not stand the rest of the trip he could stay there until the next change, two days later. Dyche thanked him for the offer, but said he thought he could go the rest of the way. On p. table in the dugout was a big corn-pone and an immense turkey, cooked to perfec- tion. He needed no second invitation from the young man who was preparing to take the old driver's place, to help himself. With the drumstick and second joint in one hand and a huge piece of T^ SURVIVING A BLIZZARD. 107 corn-bread in the other, he prepared to eat his Christ- mas dinner as he travelled. The change of drivers was very acceptable, for the 5'oung fellow told many stories of interesting inci- dents of life among the Indians. While they were ascending a steep bank after crossing a small stream, the young fellow began peering into the bushes, and remarked that there were a good many deer in that vicinity. Suddenly he stopped and whispered : " There's one now. Don't you see him?" Looking in the direction pointed, Dyche saw a magnificent pair of antlers and a large body dimly showing in the bushes. " Get down quick and get out your gun," whispered the driver. " He's a big fellow." As the guns were strapped under the seat, Dyche answered that it was too cold and he was too stiff to shoot. Driving towards the deer tbo young man showed a cunningly contrived ruse. A deer's antlers were fastened to a stump and a gunny-sack formed the body. " I have seen over a hundred shots fired at that deer," said he, and from the appearance of the trees and bushes in the vicinity he undoubtedly told the truth. The fort was reached just at dark, and Dyche was cared for by Decker, the Indian trader. For three days a blizzard howled, and during that time all hunting was an impossibility; but Dyche spent the time of enforced idleness in getting ac- quainted with the Indians of the vicinity, and learn- ing from them the condition of the country and the haunts of game. When the storm broke, Dyche took m li .iW. ry m i" ill M m iUl ii:' A 108 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 'I I' 1 ' the advice of Little Raven, an Arrapahoe chief, and went to the hig cattle ranch of Dickey brothers with Sam Horton, the foreman, who had been detained at the fort during the storm. Tlie ranch occupied a stretch of country fifty miles square, and the home ranch was a cluster of eight or ten log houses and stables, where the men congregated during the winter. This was headquarters, and was the base of supplies for the outlying ranches. Half a mile from this ranch was the winter camp of old Coho, a Cheyenne chief of great importance, and this camp was the place of resort and amu 3ement for the thirty ^ forty men who made the home ranch their abiding-pic , ^ng the winter. The ranch was rea».ned just before supper, and the meal was hardly over when the men began leaving by twos and threes, until the house was deserted by all except Dyche, Horton, and the old French cook, who, in response to Dyche's inquiries for the rea- son of this strange d '.^appearance, said " the squaw bumpers gone to tho Injun dance." Horton proposed that they should also go to see the fun, and the two were sooji at the tepee of old Coho, whicii they entered without ceremony. Horton pre- sented Dyche to the old chief, who sat on a roll of blankets between his two daughters, Zilpha and Cesso- nia. The chief was attired in buckskin leggings, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, while the two young squaws wore dressed in pink calico gowrs with red striped shawls thrown over their heads. Around the tepee sat other bucks and squaws, dressed much after the fashion of whites, with the exception AN INDIAN DANCE. 109 that all wore moccasins and had blankets instead of overcoats. After paying his respects to the old chieftain, Dyche followed the advice of Horton and purchased two pairs of moccasins from the girls, paying double price therefor, and thus winning the old fellow's favour. i^'oUowing the presentation the whole party went to a large tepee, where the dance was to be given. In the centre of a room about thirty feet in diameter was built a fire in the most economical fashion, the sticks radiating from the blaze like spokes in a wheel. Around the wall, on rolls of blankets, sat about twenty-five squaws and two-thirds as m \y cowboys, with a number of young bucks. The sound of the "devil's fiddle," a peculiar drum made from a hollow log over which are stretched raw cowskins, was heard. Around this drum sat five Indians with short sticks, and they monotonously beat the drum in perfect unison, hitting it at inter- vals of about a second and a half in regular time, the "thump, thump" filling the whole room. To assist in the musical effort the five bucks set up a howl, prolonged, guttural, and undulating, rising and fall- ing with regular rhythm and cadence. In this song the other bucks joined at intervals at their pleasure, while occasionally the squaws would unite their high falsetto voices in a most peculiar sound which they produced with lips and teeth and the tips of their fingers inserted in their mouths. The scene was weird in the extreme, and the darkened tepee, filled with a motley crowd of red and white men, sitting in the flitting lights and shadows of the fire and listen- -f-ii • ' -I 1 ' i 5f ' tit « nl! i tl tl if' *! 111! jillKlf! Mi' 110 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ing to the wild, barbaric music, brought back to the mind of the naturalist the scenes with which he had been so familiar in childhood. The monotonous sound increased in volume, and then the signal for the dance was given. Two squaws selected one man, and the three took their places in the circle, continuing until the circle was complete. The ten cowboys and their twenty squaws then began a peculiar " crow-hopping " dance, varied with a heel- and-toe motion, each movement being made in uni- son, the circle rising and falling to the sound of the drum. For an hour the performance continued, and then an intermission was taken, while one of the musicians passed a hat — this was the only ceremony which he had retained from the teaching of the missionaries. The result of the collection be- ing satisfactory, the performance began again, and continued with these hourly intermissions and hat- passings until daylight. In the intermissions the squaws varied the enter- tainment by occasionally throwing their shawls over the heads of the cowboys, as an intima- tion that on the payment of a quarter the cowboy could have the privilege of kissing the squaw. To Dyche the price seemed exorbitant, but the cowboy taste appeared to be different, and they eagerly ac- cepted the invitation. During the evening the naturalist had been an interested onlooker, with no idea of joining in the fun ; but Zilpha and Cessonia bad been so favourably impressed with his generosity in giving them double price for their moccasins that they asked him to be their partner in a dance. He AN EMBARRASSED PROFESSOR. Ill was disposed to decline, but Horton advised him uot to offend them, as they had paid a very high compliment to a stranger. Giving a reluctant con- sent he took his place in the ring, and the lu- dicrous figure cut by the hunter was such that Indians and cowboys kept up one continuous howl of laughter. Horton, meanwhile, was scheming to have a little more fun at the expense of the innocent naturalist, and while the latter's attention was distracted, he gave Cessonia a dollar to catch Dyche and kiss him, while to Zilpha was given fifty cents to assist in the operation. Sitting by the side of Dyche, Cessonia suddenly whirled her shawl over his head and tried to draw him to her. He was too quick for her, how- ever, and slipped to the ground and out of the shawl. Then began a race which afforded more amusement for the assembled cowboys and Indians than they had had for years. A second throw of the shawl, supple- mented by l^ilpha's strength, held Dyche. The two squaws, who had arms like prize-fighters, were more than a match for the naturalist, and they got him to the fioor, where, after rolling over the ground from one side to the otber, and almost tearing down the tepee in their struggles, Cessonia succeeded in planting a kiss all over one side of Dyche 's face, from the mouth to the ear. Fully satisfied with what he had seen and experi- enced, Dycbe decided to return to the ranch, and to all of Horton's entreaties to wait for supper, which was just then brought in, he tarned a deaf ear. This supper was a large kettle of meat and soup, flanked » A\ 11, ^ m m m 11 i \ WK^mmmmmmi 112 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. by stacks of thin loaves of bread, all of which was eagerly eaten by the assembled guests. A wagon of supplies was sent to Loco camp, about fifteen miles away, and Dyche went there with a letter from Horton to the man in charge. The hurt- ing outfit was shipped on the wagon, while Dyche iJ- lowed on "old Weazel," a horse highly recommendea for his good qualities. During the following ten days Dyche had no cause to regret his selection, for the horse was a perfect hunter. He was now in the heart of the turkey country, and a preliminary skirmish that evening convinced him that there were several flocks in the vicinity. Early next morning he rode to Wolf Creek, four miles away, and while travelling carefully he suddenly came upon a flock of twenty-five or thirty turkeys, scratching under a bunch of jack-oak trees. He was seen, however, and in order to get around them he rode back out of sight, and then made a careful stalk. He was disappointed, find when he reached the place where the birds had been, they had disappeared. One turkey was soon seen running over a distant ridge, and Dyche hurried after it, getting another sight Just as it was going over a second hill. A quick shot secured it, and with the sound half a dozen others rose from the grass and weeds, and one more was killed as they staried to fly over the hill. Carrying his two specimens, which were fine old hens, to the horse, Dyche started for the ranch, satisfied with his first d'dy^s work, On the way dr.wn the creek he noticed another flock. Hidiiig in iho biishes he watched them for over an lioui', noticing ^sixjcially I SUCCESSFUL HUNTING. 113 their carriage and modes of living. He was satis- fied with his study and a fine gobbler was killed. He took the three birds to the ranch, where they were prepared for future use. From the contents of the crops of the birds it was seen that the winter food consisted principally of acorns, a pint of which, shells and all, were found in each crop. With these were seeds of various plants, and one had eaten freely of wild grapes, which hung dried on the vines. Next morning Dyche went again to Wolf Creek, and leaving Weazel feeding at the mouth of the stream in a grassy spot, he went up the creek on foot. A turkey calling in the distance attracted his atten- tion, and while stalking it he came upon a large flock of over a hundred birds on a sand-bar, where they were sunning themselves. Some were scratching and dusting their feathers, while others walked about and picked up morsels of food. Occasionally an old hen would raise her head and give a loud call. Fully an hour was consumed in working around to a high bank, fifty yards from the flock, and here Dyche lay for some time watching the movements of the birds. Selecting a bunch of five, he sent a load of double- O shot into it. There was a roar as of a cyclone as that magnificent flock rose into the air and sailed awav. He sent the load from the other barrel after them, and the double volley brought down four hens, which made a heavy load to carry back to the place whore he had left the horse. On the way down the creek a fine gobbler was added to the bag, being shot on the wing as it started to fly. Next day the same ground was worked again, and i-i 114 CAMP FIRES OF A NATURALIST. '■ 1. two hens were killed out of a bunch which started out of the busliesa. A few yards farther on a gray wolf came tr« H' ng down the ravine, and was knocked over with a ' J. : shot ; but before Dyche could get to him he rec«. ed his feet and went into the brush. A la^^^o amount of blood was left, but the animal suc- ceedf;d in getting away. Two more turkeys, fine gobblers, were shot on the return, after dark, from the trees where they were roosting. Tha following day was lost by going out with the cowloys hunting deer, and the sixth day was so stormy that all were compelled to keep in-doors. Next day found Dyche again on Wolf Creek, and while watching for a flock of turkeys a wolf came down the ravine. A charge of double-0 shot from "old Vesuvius" knocked him over, and this one did not get up again. A short distance further a flock of turkeys was scared out of the bushes and a hen and gobbler killed. These were hung to a tree and the hunt continued. Half a mile farther on a white- tailed deer was seen standing on its hind-feet, with its fore-feet swinging in the air as it nipped the buds from the lower limbs of a tree. The gun had turkey- shot shells in the barrels, and while the deer was not over fifty yards away, the hunter thought he would make sure of it by changing the shells. While so doing a shot slipped into the lock, but during five minutes of nervous work the deer did not get scared and continued to browse. Both barrels were fired to make sure of the shot, and the deer dropped dead within fifty yards of the spot where it had been eating. SUCCESSFUL HUNTING. 116 Dyche now started back for the horse, and on the way down killed a gobbler. With the three turkeys, a deer, and a wolf on the horse he made his way to- wards the ranch ; but before reaching it secured two more of the beautiful birds. As old Weazel had about as much of a load as he could well carry, Dyche walked the seven miles to the ranch, leading the horse. Three more days in the woods added four turkeys and a wildcat to the total. The results of the hunt with his baggage were taken to Fort Cantonment in one of the ranch wagons, and just as he reached there a big freight wagon passed along from the ap- pl;j ranch, going to Caldwell for supplies. The driver was lonesome and was glad of Dyche's company, so a bargain was soon struck and the luggage piled in the wagon. Ten days of uncomfortable travelling, during which the whole outfit came near being lost by attempting to cross the Cimarron on the ice, brought them to their journey's end. While camped on the banks of the Cimarron, two cowboys undertook to have fun with the " tenderfoot, " as they termed Dyche, and invited him to take a deer-hunt with them. Tak- ing him to a bunch of jack-oaks they told him ho would be sure to find deer in there, and advised him to crawl through and scare out the animals, while they would remain on the outside and shoot them as they ran out. Dyche noticed sundry smiles and winks, and fully understood the part he was to play in the little comedy. Crawling into the bushes he made his way carefully along one of the little trails. .;' :"<^i m I ! i'Ul] 116 CAMP-FIRES OF A A^iTURALIST. While creeping in this way he saw a doe standing about thirty yards away, and a shot dropped her in her tracks. A buck, which had been lying down, jumped out, and a second shot brought him down. Tying his handkerchief to a bush to mark the spot, Dyche hurried out to where the cowboys were wait- ing. In a very excited manner he asked if they had seen the deer. None had passed that way, and when Dyche told them that he had seen two the excitement spread, and the cowboys now dashed into the bushes ; but when they reached the dead deer with the hand- kerchief flying they concluded that the man they had sent into the bushes to play dog was no tenderfoot. ' In this hunt after the finest game-bird in the world, Dyche not only secured a number of excellent speci- mens, but learned much about the habits of the wild turkey. He was aware of the fact that they be- gin to lay about the first of April, and laid from a dozen to fifteen eggs, but there was much about their winter life which he did not know and which this trip taught him. The birds of the Territory are slightly different from those of New Mexico, with brighter plumage and more distinct marking in colours. In summer the food of the birds is governed by the supply, being composed of insects, principally grasshoppers, and buds and berries. In winter the birds exist almost entirely on dried grapes, buds, and seeds, and especially acorns. The cowboys said they had regular roosts, and showed Dyche places where they said they had seen thousands at a time in the trees ; but the pot-hunters are after them, and this noble game-bird will go the EXTINCTION OF THE WILD TURKEY. 117 IT way of the buffalo and be a thing of the past, unless vigourous means of protection are soon taken. The birds were formerly seen from Maine to Florida and from the Pacific to the Atlantic oceans, being more or less common along the wooded streams of the United States. !N"ow they are scarce, and will soon be classed among the rarest birds. i: W !: Iff I J I 1 ,hv:- M I ','* I: 'J T9 It i I .' t^: ii CHAPTER VIII. In the Cascades — Extermination of Many Species of Animals — Something abc c the Rocky Mountain Goat — An Arduous Journey — The Cascades Beached — Wholesale Hunters — In Camp — A Failure. iT is a fact well known to every reader that the American buffalo, or bison, is now practically extinct as a wild spe- cies. A few years more and this will also be true of such animals as the elk, moose. Rocky Mountain sheep and goats, caribou, musk ox, lion or puma, gray wolf and bears, while deer, foxes, and nu- merous other smaller animals will become very rare. The moose formerly ranged from Maine to Idaho and was quite common in all suitable parts of the northern tier of States and Territories. During the past few years only a few stragglers have been re- ported in these places. It is but a few years since the beaver was said to be one of the most common wild animals in the State of New York. It is now questionable whether there is a single wild beaver in the State. Twenty years ago beaver were common along all the streams of Kansas. Ten years ago they were often found. Now they are rare, and in less than ten years there will not bo a wild one, except by chance, in the State. Buffalo, antelope, deer, elk, :^ On guard. f m I 0% 1 'illl M '* ^? m >i'\ \\ ^11 w I ,*!» f THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN 60 AT. 119 bear, gray wolf, and the wild turkey have already disappeared. With such facts as these before him, it was appar- ent to Dyche that if he ever expected to complete his collection of birds and animals it was high time to set about it. Following out this idea, he devoted a year to the study of taxidermy and to visiting the various large museums of the East as well as zoologi- cal gardens and shops of taxidermists. Some months were spent in the studio and workshop of W. T. Homaday while he was mounting his large group of bison, and in the study and measurement of live animals in the various zoological gardens, and then he felt partially prepared for the labours before him. In the Century magazine of December, 1884, ap- peared an article on the Rocky Mountain goat, from which the following extracts are taken : " Its history is one of peculiar interest. So far as I know, specimens of the Aplocerus montanus are to be found only in three cities : In London, where an under-sized and wretchedly stuffed specimen does not redound to the honour of the British Musewaj or of English taxidermists; a better one in the L.oyden Museum ; two fair representatives, one male and one female, in the National Museum at Washington." "Of the twenty-three scientific a^-thorities who have, so far as I have been able to follow the subject, written on this animal, none have ever seen one alive, and only four have ever examined a stuffed specimen, but they, nevertheless, have bestowed 9 Tsn £ i r> i\ "t n 120 CAMP-FiP.ES OF A NATURALIST. }» thirteen different generic names upon it, some mak- ing it a sheep, others classing it as a goat, while others 'igain ranke;! it with the chamois." So thoroughly was Dyche impressed with the ne- cessity of prompt action in the matter of securing specimens that ho did not wait for the board of regents of the university to consider his plan, but made immediate arrangements for an expedition to the far Northwest after big game. British Columbia wap selected as the proper ground, and after a month preparation he was ready to start. This preparation included daily target practice with two new rifles : a Winchester, 40-82 model of 1880, and a 40-75 Reming- ton. Day after day the practice was continued, until over forty pounds of lead had been shot at every con- ceivable form of target, under every possible circum- stance which his experience had taught him he might expect in the woods of the Cascade range. Rolling and stationary targets were fired at from a standstill or while running ; he would run at full speed forty or fifty yards and then fire, until he became familiar with his guns under all circumstances and until he felt that he had full control over his nerves and mascles as well as a perfect knowledge of just what his guns would do. Tarpaulins, for covering packs and drying skins, heavy pack-bags and smaller sacks of canvas were made, every possible want was cared for, and on the morning of July 3d he left Law- rence, reaching Denver on the 4th. A few days were spent hero waiting for Judge Frederick A. Williams and Dr. J. "W. Anderson, who were to accompany him with a local taxidermist AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. 131 who profeBsed to be able to guide the party through the Cascade Mountains or anywhere else. During this wait in Denver Dyche continued his target practice, and on the eleventh of the month all wore ready and the start made for the north. The hot, dry weather made the long trip through Colorado and Idaho anything but pleasant. At Montpelier the train stopped half ; i hour for break- fast, and was just too late to allow the passengers to witness a bear-hunt in the heart of the town. A large female grizzly, with a cub, had come to town and walked leisurely through the st.-eets. The whole population turned out, and for her boldness and con- tempt the bear lost her life, while the cub was made prisoner, and when the train arrived was showing its viciousness and strength by whipping the best dog in town. The train sped on over the sage-brush country. Indians were to be seen standing at the stations watching the iron horse which had invaded their do- main. Finally the region of sage-brush disappeared, and as Pendleton was approached the whole country took on the appearance of a vast wheat-field. Trees, water, houses, and barns were seen, and civilisation seemed to have been reached once more. Spokane v/as the end of their railroad journey, and here tents were put up, bath-houses and barber-shops invaded, and a day of rest on Sunday made the travel- lers feel once more civilised. Monday and Tuesday were spent buying eight or ten horses. After with- standing the wiles of the dealers, who apparently made their living by cheating "tenderfeet," a good ■ i 'I I W.I 'I ' *l ■ m n i jjl i. ■ ■':'■. ;K|ii tf ff / I ■'U1 ,. ' r1 n\ il' \ M f M CAMF-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. outfit was purchaised and the horses and wagons were made ready. Learning at Spokane that a good wagon road led to Palmer Lake, it was determined to go on at once, and the doctor and the judge went ahead, leaving Dyche and Mac, the guide, about a day behind. The road lay through a country where there was but little grass and water, and it was ten o'clock the first night when Dyche and his companion reached a ranch. The task of keeping off the horde of vicious dogs and waking the ranchman fell to Dyche, who accom- plished it after much trouble. A little wheat-straw was obtained for the horses, and next morning, when Dyche went to the house to apologise for the trouble he had given them, he was invited to a fine break- fast. All day the road led through a hot and dry country. Dust and sand from five to ten inches deep made the way almost impassable. When the wind blew it felt as if it camo from the mouth of a furnace and the hot dust flew in clouds, completely enveloping the wagon and pack-horses. The whole country was as dry as a desert, covered with large stones, and there was little or no vegetation to be seen anywhere. Late in the afternoon a ranchman sold them enough wheat-straw to make a partial feed at three cents a pound, but he would let them have no water at any price. His well was nearly dry, and he gave them a little to drink, but the horses had to go without. Camp was made, but at three o'clock next morning they started and travelled to Wilbur, a small town, where, at six o'clock, they got sufficient water for the Wtft^m-vtmmmm AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. 123 horses and then started on, overtaking the doctor and the judge at eight o'clock. AH day long they toiled on through the sand and dust, which was now supplemented by clouds of smoke from the distant burning mountain. Camp was made at noon and an attempt made to rest and eat, but it was a dismal failure. A little water found in a hole, which was so vile that the horses would not drink it, was boiled and coffee made, but it was not fit to drink. At half-past three in the afternoon the Grand Cou- lee was reached. Here the road dropped down almost perpendicularly into the canon and rose as precipi- tously on the other side. In the distance could be seen the magnificent range of the Cascades, along the Columbia River, which at this place flows through an immense gorge. Here the party suffered the tor- tures of Tantalus, for while they could see and hear the water as the stream dashed down the gorge far below them, they could not by any possibility get down to it, and were compelled to travel three miles farther before they could obtain a "rink. After a short rest the long pull up the mountains began. The saddle-horses wero fastened by a long rope to the tongue of the wagon, and thus assisted in getting the vehicle up the trail. The road narrowed and wound in and out among the stjep hills, along the crags and cliffs of the mountain-side. While going over this trail, Mac's bucking " cayuse" took it into h's head to show off, and the result was that he fell and got tangled up in the ropes, dragging down Dyche's horse. The latter was almost caught in the m r! \i i m ! i i ■■■■■■Pi { -imx si . 124 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. fall, but extricated himsell:. Then the doctor's horse got down, fastening his rider by winding the rope about his legs so that escape was impossible. The struggling and kicking horses were on the edge of a precipice which would give them a- sheer fall of three hundred feet should they go over, and the situation was precarious in the extreme,, The ropes v»?"ere quickly cut and the doctor relieved from his dan- gerous position, and then the horses got up safely. But these were not all the troubles of the trip over tl^e pass. A few miles farther on a freighter stuck fast in the mud effectually barred the way. It was utterly impossible to get pat-'t the big wagon, so three hours were spent in assisting the freighter and clear- ing the road. Camp was made that night by a small spring, and by six o'clock next morning they were agiiin on the road. At noon they reached Condon's Ferry, the home of " Wild- Goose Bill," who spent several hours, when ho first came into the country, stalking and killing his neighbours' tamo geese. The early ruoming breeze increased to a hurricane and the dust filled the air, while heavy black (^louds of smoke and ashes covered the sky. The discomfort of travelling was so great that camp was made early in the aft<>rnm:)n, and they undertook the almost im- possible task of getting supper amid the dust and ashes. Dyche and the judge started a fire and cooked a sapper after a. fashion, but everything was 80 mixed with ashes that eating was almost impossi- ble. The doctor was the life of the party, and his exuberance kept them from uttei' demoralisation. The potatoes were half fried and full of dirt. " All .'.^-itwMt wm M..\ AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. 126 •se the better for that," was the doctor's comment, and he ate as if ho believed it. The bread was burnt. "All the better for that," was the invariable remark, and at last the expression became the general by- word whenever anything went wrong on the trip. ' The clouds passed away during the night and the winds died down without a drop of rain. The whole country appeared to have had no rain since the flood. It had rained a little, however, about four months before this date, Ail next day was spent in one continuous trip over roads in valleys between the mountains, while the dust came in clouds and covered everything. With goggles over the eyes and with the mouth and nose covered to keep the fine particles from the lungs and iroat, they almost suf- focated as they travelled, until late in the afternoon, when they reached a small lake, where Dyche suc- ceeded in shooting six half-grown ducks. While thus engaged an Indian stole his spurs which he had left on his saddle, and as he could not spare the time to chase the thief, his horse benefited by the episode. Reaching the Okonagan River at a point where it is about ono hundred and fifty yards wide, they found that a band of Indians had made their camp and were fishing for salmon, which were running lu great numbers. The red men erected a fish-dam of willow and pole in such a manner that all the fish aown the stream were caught in the baskets, method has been in use among the Indians gomg This from time immemorial and was fully described by Lewis and Clarke in the history of their explorations in 1805. If •v ; x.n i M • 1 ■ \ 1. f I I u , ), :'i ■ Hi 5 ;J i Si ;.i . 126 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. i ! Between two and three hundred Indians were in the camp and they secured from one to two thousand pounds of fish each night. These were cut up and placed on pole platforms, under which smudge fires were kept going constantly by the women and chil- dren. The combination of squaw, papoose, dog, fish, and general Indian camp smell was something better imagined than described, and little time was wasted by the hunters in that vicinity. Ward's ranch was reached late that night, and it was nine o'clock before the ducks were dressed and cooked. They had a strong fishy taste, but all ad- verse comment was cut off by the doctor's " They are all the better for that." The judge, however, rose to the occasion, saying : " Begorra, I like fish, and, begorra, I like ducks, but, begorra, I do not like fish-duck. " Leaving Ward's ranch at half-past seven next morning, another hot and dusty day was experienced. White Mountain, that landmark known to every man who has travelled in the Cascade range, towered on the right of the trail and stood out against the smoky sky. It was an inspiring sight and aided in whiling away many of the tedious minutes of the day. The party had been told of the lake called Sweet- water, and it was with a feeling of joy that the waters of the place were seen, but how keen w^as the disap- pointment when it was found that some facetious prospector had given the name to the bitterest sheet of water in the Northwest. They toiled on and just at dark reached Loomis trading post, utterly fagged out. - !l .; I THE CASCADES REACHED 127 This post was composed of a number of log-cabins on the banks of a beautiful ice-cold stream which dashed down from the snows of the Cascade range, to which the early French voyageurs had given the name " L'eau de coulee," or " water of the chasm." The trappers and prospectors who followed at a later day, however, corrupted this into "Toad Coulee," by which name the stream is now known. The post was patronised to the extent of fifty cents for a fine supper, prepared by a good cook, and the horses were regaled with alfalfa hay in the corral. During the moments of rest in their long and wearisome day, Mac had exercised his ingenuity in getting up new stories about the beautiful fish which were to be caught in Palmer Lake. Now that the body of water was so near, the doctor and the judge wanted to hurry on and try a cast. Within a mile of the lake the wagon stuck fast in the mud, and they were compelled to pack the camp equipment to the shore. Once there, the two fishermen could not even wait for lunch, but soon had their lines out and were whipping the water in vain effort to bring a rise. In about two hours they succeeded in getting a dozen of the worst specimens of fish to be found in the whole country. They were little things called " white fish" in that country — and were so full of bones as to be unfit for eating. There was not a trout in the lake. Evening was now coming on, and the horses, which had become frenzied from the attacks of the flies and mosquitoes, were taken high up on the mountain, where they could have relief during the night. It 1 ^ I fill m iW. m w m film ft li i .1 V' .l'l:il| \ ' f u ■I 128 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. i.A ti't i' was useless to try to sleep, for the winged pests made life a burden the whole night long. At earliest day- light the party was up, and scarcely waiting for breakfast, they struck camp and went back to Thorp's ranch, where arrangements were made to store the bulk of the outfit. After an excellent dinner served by Thorp's squaw, they started once more for the hunting-grounds. The trail now led up the side of old Mount Chapaca, and was a most pleasant change from what had been experienced during the past few days. The air was clear and cool, and there was none of the dust and heat which had made life a burden during their long ride over the barren country. Just as the sun sank behind the western range a cosy grassy spot beside flowing water was seen, and as the horses were halted for camp it was discovered that the place had been utilised for the same purpose by someone some time before. On a large pine tree, was found the legend : " Camp Disappointment. Could not find the hidden mine." A fawn had fallen a victim to the rifle of one of the party as they came up the mountain, and by the side of the cool spring the camp was anything but a disappointment to the naturalist and his companions. Mac had been telling of a certain beautiful stream just ahead which was full of trout, and next day the place was reached early in the forenoon. Mac's fish- stories were generally looked upon with suspicion by this time, but the doctor and the judge were so in- spired with his apparent truthfulness about this river that they did not wait to eat, but hurried away and WHOLESALE HUNTERS. 129 began casting their flies over the stream. After whipping the water for an hour or more they gave it up in disgust and returned empty-handed to camp. It was afterwards learned that Mac had not broken his record, for there was not a trout in the stream, and furthermore there never had been, for a series of high falls some distance below prevented the fish from coming up stream. Several deer were seen during the afternoon, and just as evening was coming on the smoke of a camp- fire was espied, which proved to come from the camp of two deer-hunters. The two men who sat by the fire eyed the new-comers with suspicion, and in re- sponse to inquiries said they were prospectors; but the piles of deer and sheep skins which lay ibout the camp made it evident that they were skin-hunters, and were in the mountains ruthlessly slaughtering the game for the paltry sum to be had for the hide. It was afterwards learned that these two men killed over two hundred deer during that summer, selling the skins for seventy-five cents each and leaving the dead carcasses lying just where they had fallen. The head-hunters, against whom such a wave of indig- nation has spread over the country, are bad enough, but they are usually satisfied with two or three ani- mals, while the skin-hunters indiscriminately slaugh- ter the animals by the hundreds and soon drive them out of the country. The skin-hunters were full of advice when they learned that the party was after sheep. " You may see some of them on the highest peaks if you keep your eyes skinned," said the man with 1 !: 1 !'r:i; m -i- ir*l ■■ c 130 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. a buckskin suit, " but you can depend on it, Mister, that one old ram will always see you. He's jest sure to see you if you're in sight. One old ram is always on the lookout on the top crag, while the others of the band are feeding below on the slope." " How did you get two of them if they are so shy?" " Oh, v.-e came upon them while they were in the woods and didn't expect us. Then we fellers have had lots of experience hunting wild things, and can get animals you fellers can't." This big talk did not have the effect of deterring the party, for Dyche believed that if anyone else could get a sheep he could. A mile's walk took the naturalist and his companions to the ideal spot for a camp, and here preparations for a long stay were made. A mile to the north two towering peaks raised their heads to the sky, while between them a clear, ice-cold stream dashed down over the rocks and bowlders, making constant music through the grassy valley. On the west side of the stream the valley sloped gently back to the higher mountains, while the thick grass made a carpet of green. Mid- way between the water and the rising groimd stood a bunch of spruce trees, forming a background for the camp, which was pitched just to the east of the trees. The horses were put on ropes, the tents set and carpeted with spruce boughs, the fire started and supper begun, and the naturalist and his friends were at home. The judge confessed that he did not know much about cooking, and had been afraid to try his hand heretofore lest he should spoil the meal ; but he had ^mm^ IN CAMP. 181 such an appetite after the long trip that he could not wait and began preparing to cook. He got out a lot of flour, and notwithstanding the fact that he received enough advice to sour any batch of bread, he succeeded in making such biscuits that he was at once appointed baker for the expedition. The doctor not only knew how good coffee tasted, but knew how to make it ; and his efforts in this line supplementing those of the judge, it was but a short time before the party sat down to a feast so fine that all else but the luxury of dining was forgotten. Everyone was hungry, and the table was soon cleared. As they were in a sheep country, the high crags and peaks pointed out by the skin-hunter» were eagerly scanned in the hope of seeing the longed-for game. Early next morning the first hunt way taken, but it resulted in nothing but experience ; and that evening Dyche showed such signs of breaking down under the unwonted journey and horseback travel that the doc- tor insisted that he should remain in camp for at least two days. Each day the judge and the doctor would go out on the mountains and return in the evening with no game, but with such stories of the sheep which they had seen that Dyche fretted at his en- forced idleness. On the evening of the second day the doctor came in with a story of a band of sheep which he had seen, and at dawn next morning he and Dyche were off to the spot. By sunrise they were on the top of a magnificent mountain, and saw the orb over the peaks of the range. Separating from his companion, Dyche wandered i* i lit; m m i\' I ;il M \ : n t it! iH m^ 1 I I I V 132 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. along slowly, watching far in front and looking for any possible movement that would indicate a sheep. Each rocky crag as it came into view was carefully scanned with the expectation of seeing a ram on the alert. In a grassy cove on the side of the moun- tain unmistakable signs of sheep were seen. He passed on, looking carefully in every direction, keep- ing near the top of the ridge. Finally he retraced his steps to the cove and made another inspection. It was one of the places which had been pointed out b}'' the skin-hunters as "a likely place for a few old rams," and the hunter was loth to leave it. While moving along near the crest of the ridge, Dj^che heard the sound of a stone rolling down the mountain on the opposite side of the hill. The sound could only be made by some animal walking among the loose rocks, and in an instant the hunter's heart was leaping madly at the thought of his nearness to the "big-horn." The wind was in his favour, and as the sound continued he felt sure that his presence had not been noted by the animal. Removing his shoes, he crawled towards the top of the ridge as carefully as a cat crawls upon its prey. The movements of the animals became plainer with each foot that he advanced. Just as he reached the crest, he stopped for breath and looked to see that his gun was all right. Again the animals moved. They now seemed to be only a few feet away. Slowly he crawled a few feet farther and rested. Now he be- gan a snake-like movement at almost snail's pace towards the crest. A few feet more and yet they were not in sight. Another move and he was be- ^■^ A DISGUSTED HUNTER. 138 hind a jutting rock which stood on the top of the mountain. The animals were still moving about almost within reach of his arm, yet he could not see them, although they were heard so plainly. He lifted his head carefully, just enough to permit him to peer through a crack in the rocks, and there, stand- ing in the sunshine and not forty feet away, almost under him he saw, broadside towards him, two big mule deer bucks. The revulsion of feeling at this moment was so bitter that in his disappointment he jumped to his feet and began throwing rocks at the deer, which went down the mountain faster than they had ever travelled before. Dyche was so sure of finding sheep when he lifted his head above the rocks that his keen disappointment unnerved him, and he returned to camp disgusted. 1 >■ "i; r ' »:'i CHAPTER IX. The First Big-Hom — How his Skin and Bones were Prepared — Habits of the Rocky Mountain Sheep. (YCHE'S disappointment did not prevent an early start next morning, and it was still early when he reached the spot where the bucks had deceived him. After climbing over the mountains for some time he reached a semicircular ridge, opening to the south, through the centre of which ran an intersecting ridge, terminating in a jutting crag of bare rocks. The top of this ridge was bare and rocky, while short and thick bunch-grass grew on the sides of the slopes leading down to the central amphitheatre, towards the woods. From the dense growth of timber to the south of this horseshoe-shaped inclosure there was a gravelly hill leading towards the central ridge which divided the amphitheatre into two parks. The three jutting spurs at the ends of the side and central crags were a quarter of a mile apart, while from the central crag to the back of the ridge it was fully half a mile. Dyche had worked his way up the mountain and it was noon when he reached the top of the ridge. Crawling carefully to the top, he examined the coun- try thoroughly before showing himself. As nothing living was visible, he crossed the ridge and sat down 134 ... ,1 j| i' ^|i THE FIRST mCf-IIORN. 185 \ on the south side, overlooking the central portion, and began eating his lunch. While thus fully ex- posed to anything coming from the south, he saw a big ram walking from the woods up the gravelly hill to the crag at the end of the central ridge. Dyche knew that if he so much as moved his hand or foot he would be seen by the keen-eyed animal. He thought rapidly now, for it was a case of no sheep if he moved and perhaps no sheep if he did not move. The ram reached the crag, and after gazing at the country for a while began feeding towards the spot where the naturalist lay. Dyche saw that his only possible chance would be to sit perfectly still until the old fellow got close enough and then shoot him. The ram was wild and had evidently been hunted before. He would not take time to graze, but would snatch a mouthful of grass and then raise his head high in the air and look about while he chewed it. Ho continued slowly towards Dyche, but the naturalist's clothing was of a colour that was indistinguishable from the rock and earth on which he lay, and he was not seen. The ram fed towards him some fifty yards, and just as he was beginning to congratulate himself on the success of his plan the animal suddenly pawed the earth a little and lay down, facing towards the naturalist. There he contentedly chewed his cud, while Dyche hardly dared to breathe for fear he might be seen. Minute after minute passed and the sun slowly crawled towards the western horizon. At last the biieep got up and shook himself, and Dyche felt that lu ( i- Ml m 1 r'r i 1 ^w CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 'ii ^^'"'ii K I he would now surely come on along the ridge, but in this he was again disappointed, for the sheep began to feed again, but edged around the base of the crag towards the woods from which he had come. The naturalist saw that if he was to secure that sheep he must do something very soon, or it would be too dark to see to shoot. Timing the ram, Dyche would give himself a shove with his heels every time the sheep's head went down after a mouthful of grass. Then drawing his gun up he would wait for another mouthful and give himself another shove. In this manner he covered the few feet between him- self and the top of the ridge in half an hour and gradually worked himself over. As soon as he was confident that he was out of sight of the animal, he made his way along the eastern spur of the ridge to the southern end. Making his way carefully to the top, he peered over and saw that the ram was still there, but was fully a quarter of a mile away. .Retracing his steps, Dyche made his way clear around to the south end of the western ridge, but he was still as far from his game as ever, and he could see no way of getting closer without exposing his body. He now went to the spot where he had first gone over the ridge, and waited, hoping the ram would come towards him, but he soon saw that the animal was going towards the timber. The sun was now almost down, and the naturalist saw that what was to be done must be done quickly, and concluded to make a desperate effort to get that sheep. Divest- ing himself of his shoes, hat, and hatchet, he hurried back along the western ridge to the southern spur. ' I •! THE FIRST BIG-HORN. 137 When the ram would reach down for a mouthful of grass Dyche would crawl along, as rapidly as pos- sible, down the side of the ridge into the little park between the two ridges. He took advantage of every rock and hole in the ground, and in this way reached the foot of the central ridge in about fifteen minutes, while the ram was feeding just over the crest and out of sight. Now came a series of movements between gliding and crawling towards the top. Dyche had marked the spot where the ram was feeding and worked his way to it, getting closer and closer to the place where the ram had last been seen. Just as he was working to the top of the ridge he heard a scrambling noise on the other side. Springing to his feet, with his gun for- ward and ready, he saw the ram going at full speed toward s the timber. A hasty shot and the animal was seen to falter, but quickly gathering itself together it went on. Another quick shot and the ram disap- peared around the edge of the crag. Dyche ran to the end of the ridge, where he had a clear view of the slope leading to the woods, but not a sign of the ram was to be seen. A search along the edge of the ridge showed the old fellow standing about seventy- five yards below, apparently hard hit. Dyche's gun was at his shoulder almost instinctively, but the shot was not fired, for the sheep gave a lurch for- wards and went tumbling down the side of the moun- tain. Hurrying after him, Dyche found a magnifi- cent specimen and hastened to take advantage of the fading light to make anatomical notes and measure- ments. He found that the eyes, which the books U • ■am $ ; ■ ' ill 188 CAMP-FIRES GF A NATURALIST. . : I describe as being brown or dark hazel, were of a straw colour with a slight mottling of hazel near the edges. Darkness put a stop to the examination. There was neither wood nor water near or Dyche would undoubtedly have camped near his first big-horn. An hour was spent in finding his shoes and hat, and eight o'clock was past when the naturalist reached camp. A hot supper was waiting for him, and while discussing it the hunter told of his adventure. Everyone was up bright and earlj' next morning. The doctor went south, while Dyche saddled Billy and went after his sheep. Two hours were spent in measuring and skinning the animal, and by one o'clock the skin, skeleton, and most of the meat were in camp. The doctor arrived from an unsuccessful hunt in time for dinner. The sheep steaks proved that the flesh of the big-horn is the finest game meat in exist- ence. Dyche lived for weeks on the flesh without having it pall on him, which shows that it is differ- ent from any other venison. The meat was tender and juicy, having only a slight mutton flavour, while the fat, or tallow, would not harden, but formed a granular mass, except in the coldest weather. The afternoon was spent in preparing the skin for preservation, which was a simple operation. All particles of flesh and fat were first thoroughly removed from every part of the skin to the hoofs, and then a tliin-bladed knife slipped between the hoof and bone. The ears and nose were cleaned of fascia and carti- lage. Four parts of salt and one of alum were PREPARING SKTN AND BONES. 139 placed in water, and the whole was boiled until a strong brine was made, which was allowed to cool. An excavation was made in the ground eighteen inches in diameter and six inches deep, and into this a part of the skin free from bullet-holes was pushed, forming a cup, into which was poured the milk- warm brine. Then the whole skin was thoroughly wetted with a small sponge. The head and feet were then placed in the vat and the whole skin thoroughly saturated with the brine p,nd left to soak for six hours, when the operation was repeated. When this soaking was finished the skin was hung in a shady place to dry, care being taken to turn the edges out frequently. At the end of a few days the skin was dry and ready for packing. It was folded and sewed in a burlap bag marked with a label showing a number which corresponded with the number of the description in the note-book. Each bone was also marked with a similar number and the specimen was ready for the storeroom. This same process was gone through with in every case where the skin was preserved. Just as the sun was going down a big animal was haard in the woods tearing along at full speed, making a noise like a herd of deer. The doctor and Dyche jumped for their guns, and were ready for anything, when out of the timber came the judge on Nellie Gray, at full speed, waving his hat and shouting. " Well, by the long-homed angora !" said the doc- tor, " I'll bet the judge has killed a deer. Yes, there it is hanging to the back of his saddle." Nellie Gray seemed to share the excitement of the judge as they came tearing into the camp. 140 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. \\ 'i :!n "What did I tell 3^011?" shouted the judge as he jumped to the ground. " Just look at that specimen, will you? Whoopee! A hundred dollars would not buy that sheep." As he spoke he began unloading the head and skin of a fine ram from his saddle. While the naturalist and the doctor prepared supper the judge told his story. "Do you see that mountain off there? It's more than five miles over there and the trees are down dreadfully between here and that old bald-top. I rode all the way, though, and Nellie had a terrible time getting over the logs. At ten o'clock I tied Nellie at the foot of the mountain and climbed to the top. I went along that snow-bank which you can see over there, and as I slipped along I saw a sheep. I worked around a crag and got within seventy-five yards of him. There was a whole band of them and they did not see me. That head and skin tells the rest of the story." Williams was so elated over the fulfilment of his prophecy of the night before that he at once proceeded to perform the ceremony of christening the camp. In honour of the queen, in whose dominions the party were encamped, it was called Camp Victoria. After several days' unsuccessful hunting Dyche concluded to extend his range and went to a bald ridge about six miles from camp. Ascending the highest peak in the whole country, from which a vast expanse of mountain and valley could be seen, he carefully scanned the surroundings. He espied a moving object about a mile away and finally made it I THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. 141 out to be a sheep. It was walking along the side of the mountain, and the naturalist dropped to the ground and made a long stalk to the place where he thought the animal would pass. He crawled to the top of the ridge and waited half an hour before he saw the sheep, between two hundred and three hundred yards to his left and about one hundred from the top of the ridge. Near this sheep could be seen two others, lying down. He made a careful stalk to the ridge just above them, but could not see them. After waiting in vain for the animals to move along the mountain he rolled a stone down in order to start them out, hoping to get a flying shot at them as they ran. Either the sheep were accustomed to rolling stones or their hearing was not as good as their sight, for they did not move. A larger stone was then started down, and this did the business effectually, for it started others and the whole mass went bounding down, over the ledge, right among the sheep. The animals went at full speed along the side of the mountain to escape from the rocks, and as they ran Dyche got in two shots. He now ran to another point where he could see the sheep rounding a crag. There were only two running now, and they got out of sight too quickly to give him another, chance. Going back along the side of the mountain, he saw a beautiful four-year- old ram just as it was sinking to the earth. By the time the measurements were taken and the animal skinned it was after sunset, but the load was carried two miles to the horse. Dyche was greatly exhausted from the exertion and thirst, but was compelled to walk another mile before he could ride. It was late t m ■ ' » it : '31 Ji-i an n [I i : r , t' i ; ■ : ' !l I '%' lf .i U^lU 143 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. at night when camp was reached, the horse taking his own way. The doctor and the judge had been "hunting large," seeing many sheep, but the latter were so shy that they could not get them. They each succeeded in securing a fine specimen, and now their time was up and they had to return to Denver. Dyche had been dreading this announcement for some time. He felt that he could ill afford to lose his friends, for two better camping companions could not be found. Though both were professional men, with large business to look after, they were thor- oughly versed in woodcraft and were real campers and hunters. Having a lively interest in everything going on, they took every disappointment the weather or country might bring, without complaint. Even- ing in camp was the most pleasant part of the twenty- four hours, for it was spent in profitable conversation, exchanging ideas and constantly developing new thoughts. A general discussion on sheep was started the even- ing before the Denver gentlemen left for home, when the judge asked if it was necessary to travel away up into the British-Columbian mountains to get sheep. " No," said Dyche. " Sheep range from New Mex- ico to British Columbia, and may even be found as far north as Alaska. They are seen east as far as the Black Hills and range west to the Pacific Ocean. They live, hc»wever, only in such localities in the prescribed territory as best suit their habits. At present they are confined to a few favoured localities in the highest and roughest parts of the Rockies. [ m \\ THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. 143 But I learn that the skin and head hunters are fast thinning them out. It is only possible now to find stragglers, and these will soon be gone." " How is it that your sheep are so much darker than mine?" asked the judge. " The colour is difficult of description, as it varies so much in individual specimens. Some are very light grayish-brown, or light rufous gray, while others are very dark. All the intermediate shades from light rufous ash to dark chestnut are to be seen in one band. There is always a dingj'- white patch on the rump, like that of the elk or antelope." " Well, there is one thing that I can't quite under- stand, and that is why we don't see any ewes or lambs," said the doctor. " Here we have been hunt- ing for several days and have seen nothing but bands of old rams. It looks as if all the females had left the country or stayed in the thick woods." " During the summer and autumn the rams range together on certain mountains, while the ewes and lambs are in separate bands on some other range, where they stay until late in the fall. You will find that there are plenty of ewes and lambs within fifteen or twenty miles of these mountains. Not over half of the ewes have lambs following them. I have tried to find the reason for this, but have not been able to satisfactorily account for it. Among the theories of the old hunters the most tenable is that the lambs fall victims to their natural enemies, such as eagles, wolverines, and wolves." " Do the sheep ren ain constantly above timber- line?" 'n a 'I 'i Ml ; M. , ' 144 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. n " They seem to like the high crags and mountain- tops, and when midisturbed remain there most of the time. They grow very fat on the short, thick bunch- grass that grows on the slopes and coves on the mountain-side. The high ground affords them the opportunity to watch for their enemies. When dis- turbed they always break down the side of the moun- tain for the woods, but usually keep going until they reach another range of high mountains, though it may be miles away. " Ewes and lambs do not range on the high moun- tains, at least while the lambs are small, but remain lower down near the edge of timber-line. Certain alkali spots on the side of the mountains are great places of resort for the sheep, and they go there as frequently as deer do to a salt-lick. The lambs are bom in the latter part of May or the first of June." " There is one thing that always seemed a myth to me," said the judge, " and that is the stories we hear about the fearful leaps rams mako down precipices, where they are said to alight on their horns and re- bound to their feet, thus saving their legs from the terrible shock. I never believed there was any truth in such stories." " Well, as usual, your judgment is correct. Those stories are all myths evolved from the fertile brains of those men who do their hunting by the fireside of some ranch in the mountains. Take a man who comes to a place like Thorp's ranch and shows the people that he is a 'tenderfoot' and is going to write a book, and they will fill him up with more stories of adventure than a hunter can find in a lifetime. if THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. 146 If you will watch an old ram going down a moun- tain, you will see that he does not jump down steep places, but is as careful as a dog about where he puts his feet. He will feel his way down and slip and slide, keeping a firm foot-hold all the time, and never jumps any more than any other animal which ranges the mountains. I suppose that the imagination of some book hunter made the fearful leaps out of the battered condition of the horns. He possibly could not understand why nature wanted to put such horns on an animal, and not knowing that the horns had been battered up by fighting, he imagined that it was done when the animal jumped and struck on its head. " The horns of the males are of immense size, but the ewes and lambs have small ones. Now, the females and lambs have to jump and go where the rams do, and if they jumped and struck on their horns they would have a sorry time of it. The horns of the males vary from twelve to eighteen inches at the base, and a cross-section shows that they are all tri- angular in shape. The horns and skull of the largest sheep I ever saw weighed, when thoroughly dry, twenty-eight pounds. The horns of the largest males average from thirty to forty inches in length, while those of the ewes are rarely over twelve inches long." Early next morning the judge and the doctor started over the trail to Thorp's ranch, leaving Dyche practically alone in the mountains, for the guide was no companion and took little interest in any- thing beyond his immediate wants. The naturalist 'li 4 1| 146 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ffl now made great progress in his work, for he went at everything with all his might in order to drive all thought of lonesomeness from his mind. He collected many small mammals and birds while hunting for the larger ones. I CHAPTER X. End of Sheep-Hunting— How the Sentinel Fell nt his Post— A Peculiar Wound— Finding the Noon Hour by Stars — How the Collection of Sheep was Completed. vHUS far all the hunting had been done within five miles of tho camp, but now the naturalist determined to take a wider range. Under ordinary circumstances a mile or two is not considered a great distance, but when it is over the roughest range of mountains in the world, it generally means a day's constant strug- gle to get over the ground without devoting any time to hunting. At daylight Dyche was on old Charlie's back, and ten o'clock found him eight miles north of Camp Victoria. The horse was lariated out where he could feed, while the hunter climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the vicinity. From this emi- nence the whole country was carefully scanned, with the expectation of getting a glimpse of a sheep. At last one was discovered about a mile away on the side of the mountain. The colour of these animals so nearly approaches that of the rocks and dirt among which they feed that it is almost impossible to dis- tinguish them unless some movement reveals their whereabouts. Careful scrutiny of the place where the moving object was seen developed the fact that 147 1' % im ff i I i.f 1 (I i ' ' r M 148 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. there was a band of the animals, but as they were on a barren mountain-top, four hours were vainly spent in the endeavour to get close to them without being seen. Finding this to be impossible, Dyche re- turned to camp, as he preferred to leave them for another day when they might possibly be in some more accessible place. At nine o'clock next morning he was back again, carefully scrutinising the rocks and hills, and at last made out what he thought was the head of an old ram on the top of one of the highest crags in the vicinity. Slipping carefully along the edge of the crag, he got within a quarter of a mile of the sheep unob- served, but could see no way ot approaching nearer without attracting the sentinel's attention. Nothing was visible but that big fellow on the rock, but the naturalist was confident that the whole band was somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood. As- cending a tree, he beheld a rare sight; In a sheltered cove below the crag on which stood the watcher was a band of seventeen big rams. Their fine propor- tions, their enormous curving horns, and their appar- ent freedom from all danger set the blood bounding through the veins of the hunter as he took in the situation from the top of that spruce tree. For a full half-hour Dyche watched the animals from his tree-top, and then he began to plan a way of getting at them. Every foot of ground for five hundred yards in every direction from the sen- tinel's post was as bare as a floor, and there was little encouragement offered me naturalist. The old 'f HOW THE SENTINEL FELL. U9 ram stood like a carved statue, his only movement being the turning of his head from one point of the compass to another. For several minutes he would gaze in one direction intently, and then jerk his head around and look another way, but ho was so far from the hunter that the latter was unable to make out when he was looking in the direction of the natural- ist and when he was turned the other way. At last Dyche determined to chance it and crawl up towards the crag when ho thought the ram was looking from him. The wind was in the hunter's favour, and had it not been for the old ram on the rock the stalking of the band would have been a very simple matter. As it was, the only feasible plan appeared to be to crawl over the grassy slope from the edge of the timl^er, keeping to the right of the cove in which the sheep were feeding. Hatchet and belt were left at the foot of the tree, and the campaign began. Carefully crawling about fifty yards into the open space, the head of the sentinel came in sight outlined against the sky. The head was plainly to be seen, but the question to be solved was which way the animal was looking. After watching the horns for some time, Dyche decided that the ram was looking away from him. He began pushing himself along, watching those big horns all the while and stop- ping at the slightest movement of the sheep's head. This continued until noon, and the hunter was just beginning to congratulate himself on the success of his plan, when all his calculations were upset by the appearance of a second pair of horns on the crag. a ! «' m Ml • j, I vl: I 150 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ■ i 1 ' '' ' ■ 1 .1 ■ ■1 1^^ 1 ^r \ liiii !_ • ^^^ As tho new-comer soemed to be looking directly at him and as the sheep appeared to be moving around as if about to leave, Dyche feared that he had been dis- covered and that the band was preparing to make a break for some other mountain. The second sheep, however, lay down on the top of tho rock, and the first sentinel went below to feed with the rest of the band. The naturalist pushed on, depending now on the move- ments of the head of the reclining sheep. Between one and two o'clock two more sheep made their ap- pearance on the crag, and all three moved about, but finally two of them went below, leaving one watcher on the top. Worming his way along, he reached a small water- worn gutter on the side of the slope. Crawling down this until it joined a larger one, he made good head- way up the slope until he reached the head of tho gutter. Fifty feet to his left was a string of low bushes, and by edging, inch by inch, across the in- tervening space, he soon had these fOr cover. Fifty yards more would take him to the edge of the cove where the band was feeding in fancied security. An old scrubby evergreen bush and a few irregularities in the ground afforded partial cover, and as Dyche was weary of his hours of crawling, he made for the bush with the hope of getting a little rest. B}'' inches he worked his waj% and after five hours' crawling he was at the edge of the cove, sheltered by a small scrubby tree. Covering the crown of his cap with twigs from the tree, he slowly lifted his head and peered into the cove. In that single gUmpse he felt repaid for all HOW THE SENTINEL FELL. m ill the toil which he had undergone. Not over seventy- tivo yards away wa < a band of sixteen as fine rams as man ever set eyes on . He could hardly believe that he was awake, for +here, in plain sight, were the sheep, some lying down chewing their cuds, others feeding, while still others were walking aimlessly about the cove. Now the naturalist began examining each individual member of the band for the purpose of selecting the best specimen. There stood a monster, but his colour was a little too light. Ah, there is a grand fellow ! He is the one. But no, his horns are blunted at the points. There is the right one. What magnificent horns! What a beautiful chestnut colour ! He is the one to adorn the naturalist's exhibit at tlie World's Fair. The gun is carefully trained on the animal and almost fired, when a glance is given to the one on the top of the crag;;. He is evidently the patriarch of the band. Vf hat a beauty ! Perfect in size, shape, and colour, with immense horns. But he is fully two hundred yards away. Shall the chances betaken? The ques- tion was soon solved, for Dyche made up his mind to have that leader if he never shot another sheep. The band was close enough to give him a second shot before it got out of range, and he trained the Reming- ton on the sentinel. The old guard stood broadside to the hunter and presented a fine target. A puff of smoke, a loud report, and then there was the sound of a mighty rushing and scrambling of hoofs in the cove. Hurriedly slipping a fresh cartridge into the gun, the naturalist ran to the edge of the cove, but just got a glimpse of the band disappearing over the slope to- ll I ■ ;, 152 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. wards the woods. He was too late for another shot, as the last of the band went into the timber as the gun was raised. Turning his attention to the old ram at which he had fired, Dyche hastened, as rapidly as the lay of the ground would permit, to the top of the crag. He was sure that he had not missed, but when he reached the spot not a sign of the ram was to be seen. Not a drop of blood, not a hair was found which would indicate that a wounded sheep had ever stood on that rock. The hunter's disappointment was almost too great to be borne. He had left a sure shot in a vain attempt to accomplish too much, and had lost the best opportunity he had ever had to se- cure a fine specimen. Making a circuit of the crag, he saw where the ram had bounded away towards the woods. The tracks were plain, but not a drop of blood was to be seen anywhere along the trail. With a feeling of disappointment that almost amounted to despair, Dyche followed the trail mechanically. But he knew there was no possible hope of overtaking that band. Slowly he followed the tracks down the slope until he found where they joined those of the main band, and then he could see the broad trail where the flee- ing sheep had ploughed up the ground in their mad leaps down the declivity. Two days' hunting and six hours of most wearisome crawling had been wasted, all because he was not satisfied with what was in his grasp, but must reach out for the unattainable. With anything but pleasant thoughts the natural- ist followed the trail of the fleeing animals through .1 PECULIAR WOUND. 153 the park. Clear across the park ho oonld Rtn? the fresh dirt which had been thrown up in the flight, but no sheep was in sight. He sto^xl looking at the distant mountain-tops for a few minutes, delv*ting whether it would be wise to follow the band, and then decided to return to camp and lament his folly. Just as he turned in the direction where v)ld Charlie had been left feeding, a moving object in the itlge of the timber caused him to throw up his gun. As he did so an old ram walked slowly out into the opening and stopped in plain view with its head down and then sank slowly to the ground. Dyche walked to within fifty yards of the animal, but it never moved, and approaching nearer, the naturalist saw that the ram at which he had fired was dead at his feet. The ball had entered too high to hit the heart and too low- to break the back, and the wound was of such a nature that all the blood ran into the cavity of the body, which accounted for the absence of blood on the rocks. The revulsion of feelings from his deep disappoint- ment was so great that the hunter felt literally re- freshed, and proceeded to measure and skin his prize, after which he carried the load to old Charlie and made his way to camp. He longed for his com- panions now, to share with him the joy of the prize, but he was too tired to waste time in regretting their absence, and was soon sound asleep after his hard day's work. Dyche now had plenty of rams, but he needed ewes and lambs to complete his collection. Several days were spent in fruitless stalks after bands of 154 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. sheep, and then it was decided to go farther north to another range, where possibly the eweB and lambs coidd be found. The specimens were cached, and the hunters started through deep carious and over rocky crags, going two days in this way until they reached the wildest country they had yet seen. Dur- ing the day Dy die's watch stopped, and in order to get the time two strings were hung in line with the north star. At noon next day, when the sun threw the shadow of one string on the other, the time-piece was set at twelve, and in honor of the event the place was named Camp North Star. A band of sheep was seen that evening on the top of a high mountain, and next day Dyche saw a band of fourteen and made a long and tedious stalk to get near them. The animals were feeding in a patch of timber, and the hunter could get no closer than within two hundred yards of the band. The sheep were in a patch of timber on the side of the mountain, and the n.'ituralist sat patiently waiting for them to feed towards him. They appeared to be travelling slowly his way, but he could only get occasional glimpses of them through the woods. Suddenly he heard a rushing sound, and looking from his hiding-place he saw a small band of sheep fl^'ing up tlie mountain, while the others were mak- ing as good headway in another direction. The wind had changed, and they had got scent of the hunter and were thoroughly frightened. Well knowing the futility of a pursuit, Dyche made his way back to camp, killing a white-backed woodchuck and a grouse as he went. *«« THE COLLECTION COMPLETED. 155 m A cold wind was blowing from the northwest and snow-flakes were filling the air next morning, but Dyche \ as determined to secure a lamb and ewe if possible. Saddling old Charlie, he rode five miles west. About noon he saw two old ewes and a year- ling. Jumping from the horse, he stalked the little band which was working his way. They fed on towards him until they were within sixty j^ards of his hiding-place. Concluding that he could kill the yearling with a load of shot from the shot-gun and follow it up by killing a ewe with the rifle, the natu- ralist opened fire and saw the yearling running c«,t full speed towards the timber as if nothing had hit it. Snatching up the rifle he sent a ball after it, dropping it at the edge of the timber. The ewes, of course, were out of sight, and this incident caused Dyche ever after to discard the shot-gun when hunting big game. As supplies were running short the specimens were taken to Thorp's ranch, and the hunter outfitted for another hunt after ewes and lambs. The trip to the ranch and back to Camp North Star was made with- out incident, and on the morning after the return Dj'che took an early start, and by sunrise was on the flat top of a mountain where he had seen so many indications of game. About ten o'clock a spot was reached whev«> the numerous signs showed that a large h^^ixd v)f shoop had been feeding recently. i.^i the south side of the mountain the wind and rain of summer and the frosts of winter for centuries ha>d been breaking off masses of rock, whiv^i had aocumnlated in a sheltered nook. The sheei ' ved out this soft, crumbling _, , . -vi'-^ - , !,■ " jt ~jt -. 156 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. •) rock and mado beds, which were lined with gravel and smooth stones and were dry, showing that they had been occupied very recently. There were over seventy of these beds, and Dyche began to work very carefully, for he was confident that he was near a large band. About half a mile from the beds he reached the edge of the flat top of the mountain, and crawling to the edge he peered over. A great, un- dulating slope stretched from the mountain-top to the woods on the other side, and this was scanned closely, until at last the naturalist made out moving objects below. They were sheep, and over thirty were in sight at one time. The wind was in the hunter's fa- vour, but the country was bad for stalking, as the animals were feeding over a large open space and were scattered in small bands. Making a long circuit, Dyche went down a canon and approached the game from another direction. From his new position he could count fifty-seven sheep, but the nearest was three hundred yards away, and the naturalist could see no way of getting nearer without being seen. He took another two- mile circuit and again approached the timber. From its edge he crawled up a small ravine, fearing each minute that some of the animals would take alarm and scatter the band. The head of the ravine was finally reached, and lifting his head carefully he saw five sheep within a hundred yards. Two old ewes and three small bucks, probably yearlings, were feeding within easy range, but Dyche wanted a lamb, and hesitated whether to shoot at the sheep in sight or wait for a better opportunity. ;4ii til THE COLLECTION COMPLETED. 157 Deciding to try again ho began a retrograde move- ment, although he ran the risk of frij^htening away the whole band. He felt, however, that if ho missed a lamb this time he would have great diffi- culty in getting so close to one again. Crawling slowly up another ravine, he got sight of an old ewe and a lamb. They were just what ho wanted, but they were over two hundred yards off and there was no possible way of getting closer. He determined to let them go, and crawled back to the woods and went up another ravine. He had crawled about two hundred yards when two sheep fed along the head of the ravine. The naturalist flattened himself to the ground, fearful that he had been seen. The animals fed in almost the same place for fully an hour, and the hunter was just beginning to feel that he would have to move even at the risk of scaring away the whole band, when they went around a knoll. Crawling to the head of the ravine Dyche carefully lifted his head, but there was nothing in sight. Waiting a few minutes he crawled out on the grassy slope, hiding himself as much as possible, flattening himself to the ground. His movement was evidently seen by some watchful sheep, for ho suddenly heard a tremendous rushing of the frightened animals, and jumping to his feet saw sheep everywhere going at full speed. The Winchester was trained at the flying animals, and an old ewe received the first shot. Without waiting to see the effect of the shot, another ball was sent after a lamb that was just going over a knoll. The ewe made a few jumps and dropped, and fifty yards over the knoll the lamb lay dead. .1 V i] i 158 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. The bullet had struck him in the hip and ranged for- wards to the neck, not coming out. All this stalking had occupied much time, and it was now between three and four o'clock in the after- noon and camp was a long way off. An hour was spent taking notes and measurements and skinning the animals, and then Dyche started for camp, carry- ing the load of skins, skulls, and a portion of the lamb. The way was long and rough, and finally he was com- pelled to cache the greater portion of his load and proceed with his quarter of lamb. Next morning it was snowing heavily, and the northwest wind cut to the bone. Dyche waited for a cessation of the storm, but finding that there were no indications of a lull he saddled Slim Jim, the meanest and fattest horse in camp, and started after his specimens. The snow had changed the appearance of the country so much that he could hardly make out the landmarks which he had noticed the day before, but just as he was about to give up the search he saw a moving object among the trees. Suddenly an old ram came into view at the edge of the timber. Jumping from his horse, Dyche began to unfasten his gun and the ram started for the timber, climbing up the rocky ledge. By the time the gun was out of its fastenings the ram was at the top of the ledge, but here he made a mis- take. He stopped to look back. Just at that moment Dyche dropped on one knee and sent a bullet after him. As the gun cracked the sheep jumped away, and Slim Jim did likewise. Dyche spent fifteen min- utes catching the horse, and then went to look for THE COLLECTION COMPLETED. 159 the sheep, which ho found just over the ledge, stone dead. Very little time was spent in the measurements and skinning, and Dyche started to camp with the load, intending to leave the ewe and lamb for next day ; he knew that nothing would touch them, for two handkerchiefs floated over them as danger-sig- nals. While wandering around trying to find the way to camp he reached the spot where he had killed the ewe and lamb, and thus getting his bearings soon found where ho had cached the skeletons and skins. Placing these on Jim's back, the whole load was taken to camp. The naturalist now had a complete collection of sheep of all ages and kinds which made up a complete family, and he concluded that he had had enough sheep-hunting. In addition to the sheep, he had many smaller specimens and several fine mule buck skins and skeletons. Several days were spent in getting out of the country. Horns and skeletons are not easily carried on horses, for the rough and rocky trails are liable to cause accidents which will break the fragile bones. It was after dark when camp was made the first night, and it took until nine o'clock next morning to get the packs arranged again. Everything was piled up in such away that the place was named Camp Confusion. About noon the trail led through a patch of blue- berries, and here the horses were unpacked and the hunters regaled themselves on the berries. Those were of two kinds : a large variety with a whitish bloom on the berry and a small black one. The ! \ ICO CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. largo ones were full of moat, while the small ones were very juicy, and a judicious combination made a very palatable dish. Dyche and his companion had now been living on a meat diet for ten days, and they were beginning to feel the effects of it. As they were within a day's journey of Thorp's ranch, a pint of navy beans, which had been held in reserve in case of sickness, was brought out and made into soup. So well did the sup- I)er please the naturalist that the camp was at once christened Camp Bean Soup in honour of the occasion. Breakfast was made from the rest of the soup next morning, and late in the afternoon they reached Thorp's ranch, tired and hungry. Thorp's garden, full of ripe vegetables, had a charm for the hungi'y hunters, and Dyche regaled himself with tomatoes from the vines. Letters from home were waiting for him by the dozen. The regular rate of postage was twenty-five cents, but Loomis, the postmaster, bunched the lot at ten cents each. Several days were spent in packing and storing specimens, but Dyche was not yet ready to leave the country. He knew that Rocky Mountain goats and caribou were to be found somewhere in this vicinity, and he meant to have some of them if possible. Many were the stories told him about the mysterious Kettle River country. There were hundreds of miles of unbroken forests where foot of white man had never trod, where game in vast numbers was so tame that deer would not run when man approached, and where wolves roamed in ferocious bands. While Dyche was a little sceptical about these stories, he THE COLLECTION COMPLETED. 161 thought there must be something in them. Caribou and goats were the specimens tliat he now wanted. Indians told of great droves of caribou which wan- dered hundreds of miles up in the woods at the head- waters of Kettle River, and the naturalist felt that he could go where an Indian could, and ho deter- mined to make the journey. \ ^':» . i':^! n : ■' ■ t i ^1 T ■,%^ i>. 'i^'^ '■ „0. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ■^* A ^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^1^ m "•• ^ II 2,2 u, MS 1112.0 1.8 L4 11.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14S80 (716) 87a-4S03 ^m » ,\ :\ V \ ^^' 6^ <^ <> ■^ i^ p I 0^ I iWi :t CHAPTER XI. On Kettle River— Okonagan Smith and his LonelyRanch — Tlie Great Northern Boundary — Trials and Tribulations — " Fool Hens '' — Through Fallen Trees — An Arduous Journey. II NE hundred miles up the river was a cabin built by three noted trappers and mountaineers — Farrell, McLaughlin, and Dore. Beyond this cabin was an unex- plored wilderness where no white man was ever known to have been and where few Indians had ever wan- dered. An unbroken forest stretched away hundreds of miles to the far north to the foot of the white- topped mountains, on whose slopes vast herds of deer and caribou were supposed to roam, and where bears, wolves, and mountain lions were thought to be in countless numbers. The white crags and peaks of the mountains were supposed to be the home of goats and sheep. All this was surmise, however, for man had never been there to report. Caribou had come down as far as the trappers' cabin during the coldest weather of the winter before, and five had been killed and many seen near the camp. Immense droves of gray wolves had ranged about the cabin, while wolverines and bears had left many tracks. All these stories indicated that the trip would be interesting, to say the least ; but Dyche had heard too 162 :■ SMITirS LONELY RANCH. 163 much of this kind of talk to be deterred from his un- dertaking, and after two days of rest at the trading post he was ready to start into the unknown land. Twenty miles of tedious travel over a dry and dusty road carried them to Okonagan Smith's ranch, on the shore of the lake which had given its name to the settler. For thirty years this man had been cultivat- ing a piece of land there, and he still has the country all to himself. His ranch extended into the lake in such a manner that it could easily be irrigated, and it held a fine bearing peach and apple orchard. Here, with his Indian wife and two half-breed daughters, he was happy and contented away from the cares of civilisation. After a bad night on account of the kicking and squealing horses, an early start from the ranch was made. The route lay eastward, over a country where there was plenty of wood, water, and grass, and Dyche felt that that trip was to be one of pleasure instead of the hardships which he had previously un- dergone. As the sequel will show, his calculations were wrong. While passing along over easy trails through the timber, the naturalists came into an opening where the trees had been cut down and a broad way cleaned off as if a right of way for a rail- road had been cleared through the forest. The work had evidently been done several years before, as the stumps were old. The broad path could be seen stretching away for miles in each direction, going right over mountain and through valley, never devi- ating from a straight line. The strange appearance greatly puzzled the hunter and his companion, and j4 m W. IIP mm Vf\^*m mi 81', ♦ !■ ( fe kfm y- 164 CAMP FIRES OF A NATURALIST. it was not until they reached a small settlement on Rock Creek that the mystery was cleared. They had seen the dividing line between the dominions of Eng- land and the United States. That night they were compelled to camp in the dark, with neither water nor grass, and they chris- tened the place Camp Necessity. When morning came they found that they were near an old Indian camp. On all sides bones of deer were found, and a stack of antlers twenty feet high had been piled up between two trees. They travelled until nine o'clock before they found water and grass. All day long their way lay through a dense forest. No life was to be seen except vegetable life, and not a sound was to be heard except the wind in the tree-tops. After a hard struggle through the fallen timber an open spot was reached on the river-bank late in the even- ing. A beaver dam showed its top just above the water, and the trees on the bank gave evidences of the work of the industrious animals. One tree which had been cut had a diameter of over four feet, and from this the camp received the name of Camp Beaver Tree. A light rain, the first of the season, fell during the night, and next morning they started early, trying to follow the old trail of the trappers. About the mid- dle of the afternoon the cabin, on the banks of a little stream which emptied into Kettle River, was reached, but no stop was made. About four miles farther up the river an opening was found where there was grass and water, and here camp was made for the night. The stillness of the dense woods was simply fii TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 165 awful. The only sound that broke the silence was the dismal hooting of a number of owls which made night hideous with their peculiar cry. The uncanny sound produced such a nervousness that sleep was much interrupted, and after naming the place Camp Owl Hoot the hunters made haste away from the spot. A tall tree was climbed and the lay of the land noticed, and the northward way resumed about daylight. An almost impenetrable forest was now Ixjforo them. No trail was to be found. The rivulet was dry, and the bed of this was followed until it ended at the foot of a ridge. On the ridge a grassy spot was found where a few deer-tracks gave the first in- dication of animal life. In every direction from this spot dense thickets of poles stood in such confusion that it was necessary to cut a way through. Tliis labourious proceeding was continued until late in the evening, when a small lake was reached and camp made for the night. The lake was alive with water- birds, and a fat mallard duck made a supper for the hunters. All seemed peaceful when the tired natural- ists crawled into their sleeping-bags, but scarcely had they composed themselves when a series of shrieks and yells, whic^ appeared to come from the vicinity of the lake, sent them bounding from their beds to their guns. The sound died away, and after waiting in suspense for some time they again sought rest. They slept soundly until just at daylight, when again the unearthly cries broke the stillness, and the hunters hastened to their feet. An investigation showed that a flock of loons had been feeding on the t It ^: 'A i |! I M 166 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. I/; lake near the camp, and it was tlieir cries that caused the alarm. No sign of a trail could be fijund, and all day the cutting of poles was continued. Night found the hunters still in the midst of thick woods, and Dyche, finding a caribou horn, took it as an omen of good luck and made camp on the spot. All next day was spent in a similar manner. The party was still headed up Kettle River, and pene- trated the dense mass of poles and fallen trees. They were in a veritable terra incognita. No hatchet or axe had ever been used in the whole expanse of country. No sign of the presence of man was to bo found anywhere. It was hard and lonesome travel- ling, and forage for the horses was always uncertain, but there was a fascination about it. They never knew at what moment they might meet vrith some exciting adventure. Just as night was coming on they saw a flock of Canadian grouse, which were so tame that six of them were killed with sticks and stones. These beautiful birds are known in the country as "fool hens," on account of their tameness. Camp Fool Hen was christened and supper made of the birds. The cocks are a mottled gray with black breasts. A small fiery red comb stands up above the eyes, and usually they are strutting around like miniature turkey-gobblers. When approached they would run a few feet out of the way or fly to tli'' ^.owest branches of the nearest tree and sit until they were knocked over with sticks. Over thirty of them were killed on this trip up Kettle River with sticks and stones. Dyche found four in THROUGH FALLEN TREES. 167 an open space, and with a pole twelve foot long killed all of them. All next day was spent in a w^earisomo march over fallen logs and through pole thickets, until the whole party, horses and all, were almost worn out. All day long the horses had been led through the wilderness, jumping over logs and crawling through narrow places until their legs were covered with scratches and bruises. Old Charlie would try anything in the shape of a log, and would jump any not higher than his breast. Billie was of different mould, and would stand and shake his head at every obstruction. If he did not jump when the head-shaking was fin- ished, that was the end of it, for no power on earth could make him go over, and he had to be led around or a path cut through for him. Camp was made in the densest woods where a little water seeped through the moss, and as a chickadee flew near and enlivened the place with his chirp, the place was christened Camp Chickadee. Next morning Dyche climbed to the top of the tallest tree in the vicinity and endeavoured to make out the way through the forest. To the north rose the white-topped mountains, seemingly only about ten miles away,, and this sight so inspired him that the party went forwards with better heart. For about a mile the way led through comparatively open t„n- ber, and then an immense spruce forest was entered. A fire had raged through this some time before and left a mass of fallen logs that was almost impene- trable. Huge logs lay in greatest confusion, com- pelling the travellero to turn and twist in every con- !• r: ' 1 I i: ii: t i 168 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST, \l V \ ceivablo direction, over and under, until they had to stop from sheer exhaustion . The horstsi - were j umped over logs until they could jump no more. The hunt- ers chopped logs until it was almost impossible to lift an axe. Then they came to a stand-still. A little prospecting discovered water and grass in a Bwampy place near by, and an hour was consumed in getting the horses to the spot. It was late in the afternoon, and camp was made in one of the wildest places ever visited by man. The swamp was full of high and low bush blueberries, and a quart of these supplied the supper, while the sparse g^rass made a meal for the horses. One day of rest was taken here, for while it was not a good place to camp, it was bet- ter than the continuous travel through the wilderness of poles and fallen timber. The density of the forest was so great that the white tent could not be seen fifty yards away, and to leave camp was a dangerous undertaking. One per- son was compelled to remain at the tent all the time to give necessary signals when the other went out to look for game or to spy out the way. Bear, deer, and caribou tracks were seen in the swamp, but it was impossible to hunt them in the dense woods. One deer came near the camp and was shot for meat. A careful examination of the country showed the futility of an attempt at farther progress in that direction, and the back track was taken for five or six miles, and then an attempt was made to go east. Seven miles in this direction were covered when night came on, and they were compelled to camp. Dyche st.arted on a prospecting tour, blazing his way, AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. IG'J in un attempt to find some way out of the country, but he gave it up in despair. Naming the place Camp Last Attempt, next morning they turned south and travelled until they found a place where the ground was moist. A hole was dug, and the seepage gave enough water to fill a quart-cup. So careful were the hunters with this that they dipped it from the hole with a spoon for fear of losing a drop. The horses were compelled to go without water until Camp Chickadee was reached next day. Resolving on one more effort next day, a northeast- erly direction was taken with the hope of leaving the worst of the swamp to the v^est. After a hard day's travel a small opening in the woods was found whore there was water and grass. Camp was made, and Dyche was soon at the top of a tall tree looking over the country. The bald tops of the mountains looked invitingly near, and it was determined to get to them if possible. There was sufficient grass to last the horses two days, and it was decided to leave them here and proceed on foot to the base of the mountain. Dyche carried the axe, and the two men started due north, blazing a trail through the deep woods. They were comjielled to zigzag through the timber, and while the blazes, were frequent and large, there were none too many when they returned. At three o'clock in the afternoon the base of the mountains was reached, and they hastened to the top, where many tracks of deer and caribou were seen. On all sides droves of deer were feeding en the rich grass which grew in profusion on the slopes. From the top of the mountain the country was ex- )' i 4 M i > f ' « ( I'! ISVflIKH' ' H,':' ' ! ! I 1 170 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. amined. The apparently boundless forest through which they had come appeared to be a small grove compared with the forest which spread out before them. An hour was spent here, and then the hunters hastened down to the timber to find the way back to camp. At the edge of the timber they found the blazed trail which led to the little white tent miles away in the trackless forest. If the darkness should prevent them from finding this trail, then the search for the tent would be hopeless indeed. Evening came on and then darkness, and then the blazes could no longer be seen. One of the hunters would stand by a blazed tree while the other went on until he found the next one, and thus they proceeded, almost groping their way, until half-past ten, when they came to the opening and found the tent. It was late next morning when they arose, and they at once came to the conclusion that the only thing left to do was to get back out of the country as soon as possible. It was evident that they could not hunt to advantage in such a jungle, and if they killed anything it would be almost impossible to get the specimens out of the country. The pack-horses were so weakened by lack of grass and water that the}'^ could carry nothing more than they had, and the specimens would be so torn that they would be use- less. The back track was taken in a snow-storm, and the hunters were almost discouraged over their bad luck. The whole day was spent chop] Ing a trail through the dense thicket with neither grass nor water. They were compelled to camp without water, and AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. 171 when they began to prepare supper they found that a hole had been torn in the gunny-sack in which was carried the meat, and the bacon and remaining veni- son had fallen out on the trail. Search was made for water, and a little was found a quarter of a mile away. Supper of oatmeal mush, biscuit, apple-sauce, and tea was a light diet for hungry men, but it was the best that now remained until they could find some game. Next morning Dyche hunted back three or four miles in hopes of finding the lost meat, but with no success. He killed a " fool hen," but all other ani- mal life appeared to have deserted the forest. Even the few woodpeckers which flitted about tho trees seemed so cowed by the stillness that they neither tapped the trees nor cried. The silence of these forests was fairly appalling. Not a sound broke the quiet but the moaning of the trees as they rubbed against each other. It rained, and the water came through the dense tops as a fine mist. It snowed, and the flakes sifted down through the spruce boughs like finely ground flour. In this dreary lonesomeness the sound of the human voice appeared strange, and words were rarely spoken above a whisper. In the course of the night the snow turned to rain, and next morning an easterly direction was taken. Down a caiion and up on a ridge their way led for two hours, when the top of the mountain was reached. From the tops of trees it was discovered that a flat country lay to the northeast, and the trail was turned in this direction. Again and again were trees climbed in hope of seeing something, and at last a "'4, ill' 1;i M I 1 til tJi I I \14 "1 172 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. number of lakes appeared still farther to the east. A straight trail was taken to this spot, and the lake was reached just at dark in the midst of a heavy snow-storm. The body of water was small and was full of beaver, from which fact it received the name of Beaver Lake. After breakfast next momin^^ .t little prospecting was done, and it was foun*^ %at Beaver Lake emptied into a larger lake. In the centre of the large lake was a small island, and it was named Island Lake. Camp was moved to the shore of Island Lake. Hero was found a regular runway of animals. A path made by bears, deer, caribou, wolves, and wolverines led all around the lake. It was evidently the spot where game could be found in abundance, and was just the place for a long stay. But Dyche and his companion had a dispute over the direction of the points of the compass, and as the sun decided in favour of the naturalist, his guide had such a fit of sulks that he insisted upon leaving the country at once. It was a foolish move, but it would have been a worse one for Dyche to have attempted to remain there alone. The back trail was taken next morn- ing through deep snow, under bushes which were bending with their load of the frozen crj'stals. Out of meat and with provisions getting scarcer every day, the situation was desperate. While bean soup was considered quite a delicacy when properly made and when not eaten too often, it was found that it lacked flavour when it lacked bacon. " What is bean soup without bacon?" was an expression that became indelibly fixed in the mind of the naturalist. AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY. 17t All day was spent in travelling through the forest, • and late in the evening camp was made about four miles above the old cabin, whence the trail led out to civilisation. A halt was made here for one day, and a fine two-point buck was killed, giving thorn wel- come meat after their privations. At four o'clock in the afternoon of the next day the cabin was reached, and was found to be occupied by four prospectors, who were d^Hghted over the "colours" which they had found in the creek. But indications of gold held no chauu for the naturalist, and the way down the river was continued. The horses were in bad condition, and they travelled very slowly. During ono of his side excursions after a straying horse, Dyche shot a coyote, and this, with a dozen or so skins of "fool hens," constituted the specimens secured in a trip of over a month in the wildest part of North America. For two days they now travelled on a diet of veni- son, as their provisions wore gone. A delicious re- past of ripe peaches from Thorp's orchard freshened them up and a good supper renewed their energies so that they slept without care. - ■i !-[■♦ il ti- ll I 1 CHAPTER XII. In the Cascades— A Forest Fire — After Rocky Mountain Goats — The First Shot— Down the Mountain — A Successful Hunter — A Night of Hardships — A Naturalist's Labours. >HREE days spent at Thorp's ranch pre- paring for an expedition after Rocky Mountain goats put the horses in fair con- dition for travelling, and they went along at a good rate on the first day. The whole country to the north and northwest was covered with smoke from the forest fires which had been started by In- dians to bunch the deer. Hundreds of the animals were slaughtered and thousands of acres of the most magnificent timber land in the country burned over and ruined by these Indians. On the first day out from Thorp's ranch thirty-seven deer were seen. There was a camp of Indians near old Camp Victoria, and 'lere Dyche stopped for a, few mmutes' talk with the redskins. Dozens of dogs greeted him as he ap- proached the camp, and about a dozen bucks came out and stretched themselves on the ground near the naturalist, with the exclamation *' How !" As the red men could talk a little broken English, the huntei endeavoured to get information from them regarding game. The spokesman held up five fingers and said, " Mowwicb," indicating that he had killed 174 A FOREST FIRE. 175 five deer. Then pointing to each of his companions in turn, he held up the number of fingers suitable to their achievements and repeated the word. Dyche asked about sheep and the Indian pointed to the moun- tains far to the west. He then asked about goats, or "white sheep." The Indians consulted a little and then pointed to the crags in the northwest and said, " White sheep high up." One Indian supple- mented this information with the remark, " Me no hunt him," whereat the others laughed boisterously. Dyche declined the invitation to"crme down," and rode on until a suitable camping-place was found. Several days were now spent on the trail over mountains, through masses of rock and down timber, while the whole country was almost obscured by the smoke from fires which were raging on the other side of the range. Finally farther headway was pre- vented by the fire, and in a little valley, through which leaped a sparkling stream and along whose edges grew an abundance of grass, camp was made. A fence of poles behind them and the fire below pre- vented the horses from straying away. As usual, old Charlie would not go away from the tent, and it became necessary to lead him down to the stream to keep him away from the camp. He seemed to pre- fer the smell of the camp to the best grass on the range. During the whole time he was in the moun- tains he always remained within a few yards of the tent unless he was driven away. Immediately after camp was made Dyche started on an exploring expedition. A light breeze was blowing the smoke in great clouds up the east side of 'I. mi ill r I H i ' i Mf 176 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. the canon, and Dyche climbed the west side. After hours of hard work he reached a projecting crag, where the full beauty and magnificence of the moun- tain fire burst on his gaze. Thousands upon thou- sands of veritable monarchs of the forest were being swallowed up in the dreadful conflagration. Ruin v/as spreading over miles of territory, simply that the lazy Indians might hunt more easily. On the way down the mountain he noticed a bunch of white bristly hair attached to a jutting rock, and by the light of the camp-fire he decided that it had been scratched from the side of a Rocky Mountain goat. This convinced the naturalist that he was near the animals for which this trip had been made, and daylight next morning found him on his way up the side of the mountain. Here were the steepest and most inaccessible of the steep and rugged Cascades. Long ages of frost and sunshine had torn great masses of rock from the sides of the projecting crags, which had plunged to the bot- tom, ploughing immense furrows down the moun- tain's sides and piling up in a confused jumble at the base. From the almost perpendicular sides of the precipices projected here and there shelves or benches of rock, to which clung stunted and dwarfed growths of pines and spruce, while zigzagging up from one bench to another were little gulches or chasms which gave the explorer an opportunity to reach the top after the expenditure of great labour. Two hours of hard work placed Dyche about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, and here he found a shelf running apparently around the face of the ' AFTER ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOATS. 177 crags. Following along this bench he reached a point overlooking the entire valley below, and here he found, in the crumbling rock and debris, the bed of a goat. It was similar to those which the sheep had made, but sticking to the sides could be seen the long bristly white hairs of the goat. Here evidently the old billy had selected a spot in which to chew his cud, for from this point he could view the whole country at his leisure. A short dis- tance farther on three more beds were found, and many tracks indicated that this bench was the favour- ite resting-place for goats. While proceeding cau- tiously, Dyche was suddenly brought to a stand-still by the noise of a stone rolling down the mountain ahead of him. Well knowing that when stones move some animal life must be near, he stopped and listened until the noise was repeated, and then he ran to the end of the bench, about a hundred yards beyond. The increasing noise showed that some animal was hastening down the mountain. Slipping off his shoes and depositing his camera with them, the naturalist started on a noiseless run towards the place whence came the sound. At this point the formation of the mountain was peculiar, in that there were two shelves or benches, one a short distance above the other. These were connected by a series of gulches, thus leaving a number of jutting crags extending from the upper bench. The animal reached the end of the lower bench as the hunter ar- rived at the end of the upper, and now began a race back. As Dyche reached the crag he saw some white, shaggy object just disappearing around the rock be- f: i m t'#! ^1 ri i 1^ ill { ; I t 178 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. M H^ ' I Hi low him. The first thought that flashed across the mind of the naturalist was that it answered the de- scription of a polar bear, and then he realised that he had seen a goat. The animal was skulking along on the lower bench at a fair gait, and Dyche turned and ran back along the upper ledge as fast and silently as possible. He reached the head of the first gulch just in time to see the goat go behind the next crag, and then made another run of about forty yards to the next opening, where he got another sight of it. Dyche was running up and down the mountain, while the animal was going along on a level. Al- most exhausted, and breathless from running so vio- lently in the high altitude, his hmgs working to their full capacity, perspiration pouring down his face, and his heart throbbing as if it v/ould burst, the hunter pressed on. Another run and a rest and ho could hear the stones rolling ahead of him. Again he ran fifty yards, calling into play all his surplus energy, and waited on the point of a crag, but again he was just too late. He could hear . animal still ahead of him. A run of a hundred yards at full speed placed the hunter on a crag just in time to see the goat dis- appear aboat seventy yards away. This sight was suflicient to nerve the naturalist for one more effort. A grand spurt was made for about twenty-five yards up hill, and the head of the cove was reached. Dyche stopped, gasping for breath and almost exhausted, but stood stock-still and listened. Suddenly a big white object sprang upon a crag in front of and be- low him, not over seventy-five yards away. It L DOWN THE MOUNTAIN. m was a large goat, the animal which had givon him such a chase. Wiping the perspiration from his eyes, the naturalist drew down the Winchester and compelled his muscles to be steady long enough to take good aim, notwithstanding the fact that he was almost sinking from exhaustion. Logs and rocks obscured the goat, so that Dyche was com- pelled to stand on tiptoe to get sight at the top of the goat's back. With the report of the gun the animal disap- peared in a cloud of dust which rose from tlie spot below whore it had been standing. Down the canon rushed the excited naturalist after the goat. Roll- ing and tumbling, he went down the gulch to the place where the goat had been, but it was gone. A cloud of dust, however, showed that the animal was also rolling down the declivity ahead of him, and without waiting to figure on the consequences the hunter dashed after his prize. The melt- ing snow had left a mass of debris in tbe gulch which had been ground to dust and which was now dry and light. The struggles of the goat sent this dust rolling in clouds back to where the naturalist was following and almost choked him. Slipping and falling he hurried on, and at last saw the shaggy brute lying on its back by the side of a log. As it stood on the crag it had looked like a small albino buffalo, and when dead the resemblance was al- most perfect. The ball had gone through the top of the back just above the spine and had paralyzed the fore-legs. The goat was making ineffectual struggles to get on its feet. Dyche rolled down to '■; 1% .V m ,1 1 '« ! it. 1 \ 1 i u \ 1/ ^ ( ■I I 180 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. within a few feet of the animal and lay there so ex- hausted that he could not move. It was well that the goat was disabled, for the hunter could have done nothing to have stopped it had it recovered sufficiently to start awaj'. Thus he lay for full five minutes, gasping, before he could recover sufficiently to attend to his game. Regaining his breath and strength by degrees, the naturalist finally began taking notes, and having dispatched the goat with his knife, he walked back to the place where he had left his camera. He photographed the animal just as it had fallen. Three hours were now spent in measuring and skinning the goat, and at three o'clock in the afternoon the hunter started for camp at the foot of a steep mountain. The package of skin and bones was about as heavy a load as Dyche could well carry, and to add to his discomfort he was terribly thirsty. He had had nothing to drink since he left camp early in the morning, and his great exertions had caused such violent perspiration that his system was depleted of water. At four o'clock he had gone about half a mile, and found himself on a shelf from which there appeared no possible means of farther descent. A lower bench was finally reached, but no water could be found. While searching here for a path another goat was seen feeding on a rocky ridge across a small canon about four hundred yards away. Removing his shoes, the naturalist began a stalk, but soon found that he could not p'et nearer than three hundred yards in that direction, so he crawled back and descended to a lower level. Slipping along A SUCCESSFUL HUNTER. 181 the ridge, he reached a spot wliich he supposed would be within easy range of the goat. He peered round the edge of the crag, but the animal had disappeared. The goat, however, came from behind a rock and stood about a hundred j^ards away. He was across a canon, but the naturalist rested the Winchester on a rock and after steady aim fired. The goat plunged head foremost over the cliff into the canon below. Dyche hastened back after his shoes and load of skins, and went after his second prize, which he found at the foot of the precipice. The naturalist's thirst was so overpowering that he determined to drink the blood of the goat, but when he cut the animal open the strong musky odour was too much for him, and he gftve up the idea. Finding that little progress could be made down the mountains with his load, he now determined to cache his specimens and come back for them next day. A tree was stripped of its branches with the exception of a bunch at the top, and to this he tied the bundle of skins and bones, and to make it even more con- spicuous he tied his camera to the bare portion of the trunk. The descent to the bottom of the mountain was now made, and here he piled up stones to mark the spot, and placed three piles of small stones on a log. It was dark now. Fully satisfying himself that he would have no difficulty in finding the place where he had come down the mountain, Dyche now set himself to the task of reaching the river in order that he might qr -nch the almost overpowering thirst. The river was near, but the great masses of stone which had crumbled k: m ••'' *" *• t : ■ ■M'l if i :r fl I 183 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. I i i from the mountain presented an almost impassable barrier. At last the edge of the river was reached, but he found another difficulty. Great piles of rocks barred the way, and the steep declivity pre- cluded all possibility of getting down. The sound of the running and babbling water as it dashed over the stones in the river-bed was maddening. D3xhe struggled along, over bowlders and under logs, and through bushes which held him back as if leagued with the powers of darkness to restrain him in his efforts. Darkness came on and still he struggled on, fearing all the while that he would fall into some hole in the rocks from which ho could never get out. Feeling his way, he finally emerged, but he was worse off than before, for here the fallen timber, overgrown with bushes and briers, was so heavy that it made a dense jungle. At times he would run against a great rock that stood higher than his head, and then he would get into a tangle of briers so thick that minutes were spent in getting through. His exhaustion was now so great and his thirst so maddening that the naturalist tore his way through the briers and underbrush, unmindful of the cuts and scratches. He was in a frightful condition, and felt that his brain was turning from his tormenting thirst. A patch of "devil's walking-sticks," a shrub whose curved thorns hold all they catch, barred his way, and he felt as if Satan himself had lent a hand to keep him from getting water. At last, however, he reached the river. A log reaching from the bank gave him access to the water, and after wash- A NIGHT OF HARDSHIPS. 188 npassablo reached, piles of vity pre- lio sound ihed over Dyche logs, and f leagued n in his ?gled on, tito some get out. he was timber, !o heavy 10 would er than ngle of getting hirst so through Juts and and felt g thirst, b whose is way, hand to owever, om the r wash- ing his burning face and hands he began the work of quenching his thirst. He drank slowly and finally felt that he had sufficient. But as he started from the water he felt the thirst again and drank again and again. Reaching the top of the bank, the naturalist sat down to consider his situation. Ho had promised himself that when he reached water he would camp for the night, but now he felt so refreshed that he thought he would get to the tent and have a good rest and breakfast before he started again for his speci- mens. By this time he was again very thirsty, and he made another trip to the water before he started up the river. He knew the camp was above him, but just how far he could not tell. An hour or more was spent in getting through the underbrush, and then he was compelled to get another drink. He now deter- mined to make one more effort, and if he failed he would give up for the night. Stumbling along over rocks and poles, ho soon found himself in a wilderness of huge logs. It was so dark that he ran into the trees before he was aware of their vicinity. Feeling his way along, stumbling and falling, with bruised and bleeding limbs, he was indeed a pitiable object, but he pushed on and on. Finally he sat on a log and gave up. He dozed and nodded from exhaustion, when suddenly he heard a shot away up the canon. It was evidently the guide making signals to bring him into camp. Giving the answer he now pushed on, won- dering why the shots sounded so far away. Once again the shots were exchanged, and from the sound he judged the camp must be fully five miles away. i8 ■H ii \m Wii M 1; i-i ! ! H h tit* I 184 CAM! FIRES OF A NATURALIST. Striking a match, he looked at his watch and found that it was just eleven o'clock. His hands and feet were burning and he was so dead tired that when he sat down to rest he would almost instantly drop to sleep, to be awakened by almost falling from his seat. Then he would push on again. The rushing of the water over the bowl- ders, the weird sounds of the forest, the roaring of the fires which raged on the opposite side of the cafion combined to make night hideous and still farther de- press him in his terrible condition; but he pushed on, determined to reach camp, now that he knew the direction of it. The extreme exhaustion now began to tell most strangely on Dyche's brain. Odd fancies and queer hallucinations flashed through his mind, and thoughts that under ordinary circumstances would have ap- peared foolish now had serious consideration. At last he reached a little opening in the jungle and found himself in a small park. He had just begun to breathe freer, when there arose at his feet some huge animal which made two or three bounds away and then stood stock-still. To say that the naturalist was scared is putting it mildly. He lost entirely the little of his self-control which had remained after the awful experience of the night in the jungle. Tears involuntarily came into his eyes, his blood seemed to stand still, while chills began at his feet and crept all over his body, up and down. Fright- ened? He was so frightened that he felt that he should go insane unless something happened to re- lieve the awful strain. - A NIGHT OF HARDSHIPS. 185 M He threw his gun forwards, of course, at the first movement of the animal, but the strange silence puz- zled him. Not a sound, not a movement was made by the big beast. Dyche thought he would light a match, but gave up the idea for fear he would be at- tacked when the brute saw what a puny thing he was. He moved a few steps forwards, making as much noise as possible, but the animal did not move. Again he advanced, shuffling his feet, and the strange ob- ject moved only a step or two and again stood still. Dyche knew of no animal as large as this which would act in that way, unless it was a grizzly bear which had never seen a man. His next im- pulse was to shout, for he knew that the human voice had a wonderful effect upon wild animals. Acting on this idea he shrieked and shouted, but not a sound came from the place where the strange beast stood. He called his guide, he called all the names he could think of, but not a motion was made. Then he shouted again and called his old horse Charlie. The result was most startling. Old Charlie answered with a whinny from the very spot where the strange beast stood. Another call brought the horse to him, and then Dyche cried from revulsion of feeling. He petted the horse, and then fell to wondering what could have brought him so far from camp. It was the horse that had to be driven away to grass. Know- ing that there must be a trail over which the horse had come, Dyche took hold of his tail and endeavoured to drive him back to the tent. Charlie went forwards a few paces and then stopped. Dyche clucked at him and struck him, but % ii ! : I »■ i-i' t : rf :1'; h i I'i h 186 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. the old fellow would only wander around in a circle. At last the horse brushed past a pole on which hung a gunny-sack. Dyche remembered noticing this as ho came into the cafion, and now he began to wonder how far that pole was from camp. He struck Charlie again and made him go forwards. Suddenly there loomed up beside him some big white object which h< took for a rock, but on feeling it found that it was ti tent. Charlie had not broken his record, but was right in camp. In a few minutes a fire was burning brightly and supjor was under way. It was after one o'clock in the morning, and the guide was not there. The shots . lad evidently been fired far up the cafion by the man, who was also lost. He returned to camp next day, having lain out on the mountain all night. By half-past two Dyche finished his supper, or breakfast, and bath, and rolled into his sleeping-bag, feeling that "all's well that ends well." But the troubles of the night were not over. Just as he be- gan to doze he felt something run across his bed, and then heard a dragging noise on the floor of the tent. A mountain rat was exploring the place. After standing it as long as h could, the naturalist got up and set a trap for the intruder. He had scarcely got back to bed when the trap snapped and the rat squealed. This noise had to be stopped, so Dyche got up and killed the rat, setting the trap again. The minute he touched the bed another marauder was caught, and then until morning the trap was kept busy and a family of seven rats were killed. When the last one was gone it was broad daylight, a circle, ch huug g this as 3 wonder c Charlie ily there ct which lat it was ord, but fire was way. It he guide een fired ilso lost. 1 out on ipper, or )ing-bag, But the as he be- bed, and the tent. ). After 5t got up scarcely d the rat o Dyche p again, larauder rap was e killed, laylight, A NATURALIST'S LABOURS. 187 and not a wink of sleep had Dyche had. For once in his life the episodes of the night wore too much for tho naturalist's nerves and ho could not sleep. Ho lay for two hours thinking of tho specimens away up the mountain which must be brought into camp and taken care of. The previous day had be(>n nineteen hours long and had been supplemented by a sleepless night, and Dyche felt little like again climbing the mountain ; but ho knew that if ho wjmted to preserve his goat- skins ho must bring them into camp. His feet were bruised, his hands and face scratched and sore from the briers and '* devil's walking-sticks," and his whole body ached from the extraordinary exertions of the previous day; but he started after his specimens. Not caring to repeat his experience of thirst, ho took a powder-can of water with him. Following down the river over the bowlders and through the thickets, he finally found the piles of stones which marked tho spot where he had descended the mountain. But something was evidently wrong. Hours were spent searching for the skins, but not a sign of them or the tree which had been so plainly marked could be seen. Up and down he climbed, searching in every direction, and at last, after going away off to one side, he found the place where he had killed the old goat, and then following his trail he found the cached specimens. He then found that in going down the mountain the evening before he had gone over a mile to one side before ho reached tho bottom of the cliff. It was half -past three in the afternoon when he reached the tree, and it was three hours II I w f 1 1 I i ii ' h 'i . if M y 188 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. later when he arrived at the foot of the mountain with his load. He dreaded the hard climb over the rocks to camp, but determined to do as much as possible. Leaving the skin of one goat and the skulls hanging to a rock, he started with the skin of the old billy, which weighed thirty-eight pounds, and managed to reach camp after eight o'clock. He was soon asleep, after nearly forty hours of sleeplessness and terrible exertion. Next morning Dyche's knees were so sore and stiff that he had to toast them before a hot fire and soak them in vaseline before he could walk. This and the two following days were spent in getting the remain- ing skin and the skeletons into camp and dressing them. These five days were spent in securing two specimens, and as the three last days were in camp, Dyche was well rested and started on the sixth day for the mountains. While travelling down the moun- tain a goat made its appearance about half a mile away on a little flat-topped spur which extended out from the main ridge. The animal was feeding and could have been easily stalked from the main ridge, but the wind was unfavourable, and Dyche concluded to crawl down one canon and up another, under cover of the crag on which the goat stood. Reaching the spot where the animal had been feeding, the natural- ist could see nothing of it. An examination showed where a nanny and a kid had been feeding, and as they were just what Dyche wanted, he proceeded very cai'efully along the cliff. Hearing the sound of roll- ing stones ahead of him, he hurried forwards and saw an old she-goat with a kid on the other side of the nountain over the much as he skulls in of the nds, and He was plessness and stiff md soak J and the remain- dressing ring two n camp, ixth day le moun- If a mile ided out ling and n ridge, mcluded er cover bing the natural- showed 1 as they Bd very of roll- and saw 3 of the A NATURALIST'S LABOURS. 189 canon. With the crack of the ritle the old goat pitched forwards and rolled down the slope, while the kid hid behind some rocks. After waiting fully five minutes for the kid to come out, the hunter changed his position and the little fellow jumped out and started to run. The gun cracked again, and the kid went rolling down to join its mother. It made a sheer fall of fifty feet. The skull was crushed, the jaw broken in several places, the leg and shoulder broken, the skin torn, and worst of all, the horns were broken off and one lost. This almost ruined the specimen, but Dyche spent twenty minutes searching for the horn, and was fortunate enough to find it. The kid was measured and skinned, and then the search began for the old one. She had lodged on a projecting ledge, and the naturalist was com- pelled to work for some time to dislodge her. He was finally compelled to get a long f .e and make, a lad- der by which he got down to the goat, and here he was compelled to tie himself to the rock to prevent a fall while he worked over the specimen. Dyche was so worn out that when he reached the foot of the mountain he cached the specimens, and with only a portion of the flesh of the kid he went on to camp. He found, however, that the flesh, even of the kid, was hardly fit to eat, for it was so permeated with the musk cX the glands that it was unpalatable. On this trip Dyche was fortunr.'e enough to find a spring of pure water on the range, probably the only one on the mountain, and this was always made the objec- tive point of all trips hereafter. •if: '. !■:«' , i \ El ii'i I \ 1 1 X 1 ', » 111 1^1 d ! i i 1 W 'if !' U ':■ K:: a ^i' '>! CHAPTER XIII. A Peculiar Danger — Four Goats in Four Shots — A Rapidly Disappearing Tribe — Description and Habits — A Persist- ent Hunter, MEANTIME the mountain fires had been steadily increasing and advancing until the camp was threatened, and Dyche be- gan to fear that all his labour would be in vain, for if the fire came down the mountain the skins and skeletons would be destroyed. It was with a feeling of great joy that the naturalist awoke next morning and saw the rain pouring down. It was the first of the season in that locality and came in such quantities that the fires were soon checked and then were drowned out entirely, with the exception of smouldering logs here and there. The air cleared, and the thin spiral columns of smoke ascending from various points over the mountain were the only evi- dences of the conflagration that had lately been raging within a few miles of the camp. Dyche at once started after his specimens and brought them into camp, putting the skins in a pickle. It continued to rain, and soon the tops of the moun- tains took on a mantle of white; and as the rain in- creased, the snow-line crept lower and lower, until it reached the green of the timber. Now another dan- 190 aiHHi 11 I. A Rapidly —A Persist- had been 3ing until Dyche be- ould be in ntain the was with s^oke next It was came in eked and exception r cleared, ling from only evi- tely been lens and a pickle. le moun- ! rain in- , until it her dau- :x< ,\^*^ t^.^". *f^-. ^^"^ .i%'»m\ ^.'nw- Almost (k'spairiiig. '*■■ ■ill 'I I'll t . r i' 1 I ■ i > M i i 1 ' i 1 ! i u i.^. ''i' (i u ' i ■MrV A PECULIAR DANGER. 191 ' ger menaced the hunters' camp. The peculiar for- mation of the mountain caused great masses of rock to split off, owing to the action of the water, and immense bowlders were continually rolling down into the canon. The stillness of the mountain would sud- denly be broken by an explosion resembling the rattle of musketry, and then a great mass of rocks would lean out from the face of the cliff and topple over, falling, rolling, and tumbling to the bottom and sometimes going as far as the river. These rock slides would crush everything before them, and im- mense trees and bowlders were torn from their foun- dations and hurled with the force of an avalanche to the bottom. This was very dangerous, for if such a slide ever struck camp there would be nothing left to tell the tale. One incident convinced the naturalist that he could not get away too soon. It was after mid- night when Dyche was aroused by a peculiar roaring and rumbling noise directly above their heads on the side of the mountain. The two men were out of their sleeping-bags in an instant, and a run of thirty yards placed them behind an immense tree which had previously been selected for just such an emergency. The tree was oyer five feet in diameter, but even then Dyche feared that it would not withstand the terrible force of the rocks. An immense landslide had broken loose half a mile above the camp and came roaring down with the speed of an express train. It passed a few feet to the south of the camp and expended its force among the bowlders and in the river. Sleep was over for that night, W\ *r f J 1 M\ Ilil 192 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. SI i If teH m I) I] I ! ii. for they could not tell how soon another mass might come down, nor did they know until morning that their horses had escaped. The continued rain and snow and the falling rocks convinced Dj^che that he had better finish his hunt as soon as possible and get away. He had two fine skeletons and four skins, and the natu- ralist would have been satisfied with these alone, for he had as many as were possessed by all the museums of the world ; but he felt that he ought to try once more to get specimens while he was so near the fountain-head. Next morning he went over the ground traversed during the first hunt. It had ceased raining and everything was covered with snow. The naturalist wandered along, feeling re- paid for his trouble in the beauty of the mountain- tops after the snow-storm. But his meditations on nature were soon diverted. At his feet he saw a goat-track plain and fresh in the snow, and this he followed over the rocks until it seemed to be directed towards a bold crag which jutted out from the side of the mountain. The tracks led directly to the jutting crag, and when that was reached Dyche was amazed to find that the animals had gone around the cliff on a ledge which a dog would have been unable to traverse. The little shelf was but a few inches wide. On one side was a sheer descent of hundreds of feet, while the perpendicular wall rose to the clouds on the other. The appearance of the place was such that it seemed possible only for an animal with wings to go around it, yet those goats had gone -•^L FOUE GOATS IN FOUR SHOTS. 193 over the ledge as calmly as if it were their usual route. The naturalist found that he must retrace his steps and ascend to a higher ledge before he could work around the crag. Having done this, he was moving slowly along the side of the mountain, keep- ing good watch over the country, when he saw four goats on the opposite side of the caiion. The goats were over half a mile away, and were evidently those which he had followed to the crag. They were not as watchful as the sheep which he had hunted, for thoy fed along with heads down. An hour's stalk took the hunter to the spot where the goats had last been seen, but they were gone. Fear- ful that they had taken the alarm, Dyche walked carefully along the ridge. Looking over into a little draw, he saw them all feeding in a grassy spot on the opposite side of a deep canon. Another hour's hard work brought the naturalist near the game. The animals were now in plain sight, not over two hundred yards away. Skulking and crawling the hunter reached a log, and behind this he lay and watched the goats. His first impulse was to shoot, for they were within easy range, but a moment's reflection showed him that they were feeding towards him. They moved slowly, feeding part of the time and then moving about aimlessly, but all the while coming nearer and nearer. At last they were within a hundred yards and in a comparatively clear place. Carefully examining his gun to see that it was in good order and that the sights were in place, Dyche prepared for the shot. He examined the ground f 1 > ii / . ■ ', ^1 ;' 'lilil!] ! in •i.-. i \, m4 i-r i. I' I I : ,.■■• I I" * I- ; ' m 194 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. I r I and decided on the place to which he would jump when he fired the first shot. Training the gun on a low shoulder-spot on the first goat, he fired and then jumped to his feet. The other three animals were going at full speed towards the timber. A yearling ran along a log and received a shot as it turned its side to the hunter. It rolled from the log, and a shot was sent after the hindmost of the other two, which immediately sank down. The old nanny was over two hundred yards away by this time and was nearing the top of the ridge, but as the gun cracked she tot- tered and fell. Four goats now lay dead in a straight line up the hill, killed with four shots. Dyche could not restrain his enthusiasm, and bounded up the hill while the mountains echoed with his shouts. An examination showed that four more fortunate shots could not have been made. The first went through the shoulder, the second through the liver, the third went high, striking in the hip and ranging forwards under the ear, while the fourth also went high, through the shoulder and ranged forwards. It was now half-past three, and by hard work the entire load of skins was taken to camp by half-past eight. After supper was over and his shins and knees were well rubbed with vaseline, the naturalist sat up until midnight dressing the skins. Next day, while going for the bones, a fine mule buck was killed, which sup- plied the camp with meat. Three or four days were spent in getting the specimens to camp and in caring for the skins and bones properly, and then another hunt was taken over the grounds, which were now becoming familiar to the hunter. ■^t^ - — ■ :! i rr. v^ould jump le gun on a d and then limals were A yearling turned its , and a shot two, which y was over vas nearing :ed she tot- 1 a straight >yche could up the hill its. I fortunate first went 1 the liver, id ranging 1 also went wards. It : the entire )ast eight, inees were at up until '■hile going vhich sup- days were I in caring m another were now RAPIDLY DISAPPEARING TRIBE. 195 An early start placed Dyche on the top of the moun- tain by nine o'clock, and a magnificent spectacle was presented to his view. The heavy snow extended down in irregular tongues of white to the velvety green of the trees below. Lower down the frost- touched quaking asps gave a glorious colouring to the scene with their leaves of green and gold, just in front of the sombre background of burnt forest on the opposite slope of the mountain. The clouds had passed away and the sun shone with unwonted brill- iancy, while the pure and invigourating air gave life to everything. This was the home of the Rocky Mountain goat. Here he lives, away from all other animated nature, and here he should roam for ages to come. He has chosen for his home the land where rugged crags and peaks stand as an almost in- surmountable barrier against other animals and even man is kept aloof. The sparse grass and such shoots as he feeds on are out of reach of other ruminant ani- mals, while the bleak and dreary mountains offer no enticement to the carnivora. He is harmless and is al- most worthless as far as food is concerned ; his skin is so tender that it is valueless for commercial purposes. All these facts being taken into consideration, the natural supposition would be that the Rocky Moun- tain goat would increase and become common on all the high and bleak mountains. But such does not seem to be the case. The goat, at one time, is said to have roamed the high mountain-tops of the Rockies and Cascades from Northern Colorado to Alaska, bvit now he is found only in the most inaccessible places of the far W", \ . i I I ill t t; ' 1 i<\ it f 196 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 1 1 northern mountains. This range never exceeded four hundred miles in width, and it is doubtful if the southern limit ever reached Northern Colorado. Hunters tell of the goats which they have seen in Northern Colorado, but it is probable that they have mistaken bands of female sheep for goats, which they greatly resemble at certain seasons of the year. It is certain that the animal abounds in parts of British Columbia, but its capture is attended with so much hardship that it is rarely sought for except by those naturalists who are something more than room- workers. The goat will be found for years by those who are hardy enough to search for him, but there will be few killed. It was while such thoughts as these were passing through the mind of Dyche that he saw a goat walk- ing on a ridge about half a mile away. The animal went to the point of a stony crag, from which it viewed the country for ten or fifteen minutes. It was so far away and the country was so rough be- tween him and the animal that the naturalist was in some doubt as to the best mode of procedure. The goat solved the question by descending into one of the stony canons, and as soon as it disappeared from view Dyche began to stalk it. The goat came out on another crag and looked around. It appeared uneasy, and the hunter feared that it had winded him. From this crag the goat descended to a still lower one, and thence on down, until at last it ap- peared at a distance of about three hundred yards. Turning to the right the goat began ascending a ridge, and calculating that its next appearance i^ BT. (r exceeded doubtful if 1 Colorado, lave seen in they have )ats, which 3f the year, in parts of ded with so r except by than room- rs by those 1, but there ere passing goat walk- ^he animal n which it inutes. It ) rough be- uralist was lure. The nto one of Bared from came out ; appeared id winded i to a still last it ap- i yards, icending a ppearance DESCRIPTION AND HABITS. 197 would bo on a certain stony crag, Dyche ran towards this at full speed, dropping down behind a clump of spruce trees just as he thought the animal would come out. Ho waited about two minutes, and the goat walked out on a ledge opposite to the natural- ist. The goat made a beautifid picture with his almost white body outlined against the gray granite of the mountain, not over one hundred and twenty- five yards away. He was across a canon, which was always an objection with Dyche ; but a steady rest across a rock gave a good aim, and the ball sped to the white spot on the animal's breast. The goat staggered forwards and tumbled over the cliff, rolling to the bottom of the precipice, out of sight. Hastening down, the naturalist found a fine specimen. It was not so large as the first one killed, but it was in much better condition as to hair and colour. It was the whitest male that he had killed. The colour of the goats is usually described as white, but the hair has a yellowish tinge. Many of them have a very dirty appearance, for the long hair is filled with spruce needles, cone scales, dirt, and even little stones, which they accumulate as they rub in the dirt. Young kids have a streak of brown hair running down the back and brown hairs scattered all over the body. Yearlings show some of these brown hairs, but as the animal grows older they al- most entirely disappear. A thick coat of under hair, or wool, is always present. In August the skins show a splendid short growth of this, as then the long hair is thin, most of it having been shed. The long, coarse hair of the goat gives to it the ap- r !■ : -I 111 i Hi i' if - i! i\\ ■ . m 1: t>M] ' i ,7! 1 '^'it^ if, !'i m ) I . I 'Hm "\ I i ;i il' ' I ! I 196 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. pearance of a small albino buffalo, except that the buffalo has long hair on the fore-legs and shoulders only, while that of the goat is long all over the body with the exception of the lower parts of the leg3 and upper part of the face. The horns of this specimen were finely shaped and without blemish. All goats have hoi us, those of the old males reaching six inches in circumference, while those of the females are but slightly smaller. The horns stand well up, curving backwards and slightly outwards. Behind them are the musk-glands, which on the old males stand up two inches and are so strongly impregnated with musk that they taint the whole body, making the flesh u:" ^t for food. Near t? ' horn these glands are bare a..d scaly, but away from this part thej'' are covered with hair. When cut open they show a pink colour and give out a strong musky odour. The goat's nose is covered with short hair to the tip, with the exception of a narrow median streak between the nostrils. The eyes are straw colour in the living animal, but turn to a dark chestnut a short time after death. Under the throat the coarse hair hangs in a beard similar to that of the common goat. The hair on the legs is long, as well as that on the hump between the shoulders. This hump is one of the peculiarities which has long puzzled naturalists who have not taken the trouble to see the animal in his native haunts. It is simply a lengthening of the spinous processes of the dorsal vertebrae. The tail is very short and the ears small and pointed. The lat- ter are evidently of little use to the animal so far as J A PERSISTENT HUNTER. 199 hearing is concerned, for in every goat that was killed on this trip the ears were so filled with ticks that the insects formed a compact plug which it was necessary to force out with a hard stick when cleaning the skins. The feet are almost square and the outside rim of the hoof is sharp, making a knife-edge which enables the animal to grasp any crack or opening and thus obtain a firm foot-hold. The most common error of naturalists who have never seen either a living or dead Rocky Mountain goat is in regard to the position of the head. In nearly all the cuts of the animal in books or magazines the head is raised above the line of the shoulder. The anatomical structure of the animal clearly precludes this. The neck is short and set so low down that the head cannot be raised above a line even with the top of the shoulder. Taken as a whole, the proportions of the goat are similar to those of an American bison, or buffalo, on a small scale. The specimen was skinned and the skeleton laid bare, and tlien the naturalist attempted to carry the whole load of skin and bones to camp. The load was a heavy, awkward bundle, but he made his way along, and by four o'clock in the afternoon reached a point on the mountain above the camp. He was tempted to leave his burden here and return for it next day, but the thought that it meant a whole day lost caused him to stagger on, and hf finally reached camp long after dark. He found that there was not much in a load of bones and skins to arouse any but a scientific en- thusiasm, and he spent several hours after supper in dressing the skins and rubbing his legs with vase- 14 :u ^:l m Hi' n ' r - Iff!!' i :i 1' ;! i'i' 200 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 11 ■ ii line. Next day was Saturday, and iie remained in camp looking after the specimens and fighting mag- pies. Provisions were now very short, and the place was becoming more dangerous with each succeeding day. The guide was eager to hurry away, but Dyche could not leave until he secured more spec- imens. Several days were spent on the moimtains without success, and the naturalist was almost ready to listen to the advice of his companion. One morn- ing after several hours' fruitless hunting Dyche was crawling carefully along a ridge, when he saw a goat lying down on the point of a ledge. When within seventy-five yards a shot was sent after the animal, which staggered to its feet and then pitched forwards and rolled over the rocks down the moun- tain. The hunter hurried to the spot, but could find no trace of his prize. After searching for some time he at last descried the dead animal lodged on a little shelf about a hundred yards below th spot where he had shot it. For two hours ho tried in vain to get to the animal, but he was finally compelled to give it up. It was a great loss, as it was a fine young male and wap needed to complete the series. About the middle of the afternoon another goat was seen. He was standing on a crag above the hunter, looking down. Like all goats, it did not appear to apprehend danger from above. A shot through the shoulders sent the animal to earth, and it was after dark when Dyche reached camp with the skin and skeleton. Next day while hunting along (ho mountain a bear- f.Vi I A PERSISTENT HUNTER. 201 tain a bear- trail was seen and Dyche started to follow it. The bear had picked out a good trail and travelling was easy. While hurrying along the hunter caught sight of a goat standing on a crag above him. It was ap- parently looking directly at him, and Dyche feared that he had been seen. Working his way out of sight he tried to get above the goat. He climbed to within a few hundred yards of the top of the moun- tain and there found that farther progress was effect- ually barred. Retracing his steps, he finally found a way up and reached the top. With feet and legs soaking wet from the damp snow, he found him- self on the crag where the goat had been stand- ing, but the animal was nowhere in sight. The naturalist sat down to rest and eat his lunch, and while doing this he noticed the goat standing on the point of a crag belo\i him. Working care- fully, he began to descend. A point about two hundred yards above the animal was reached, and then a careful stalk was begun to get closer, for the sno c was falling too heavily to risk a shot at that distance. Crawling down to within one hundred and twenty-five yards, a shot was directed down at a point between the goat's shoulders. It did not move, and DycliB feared that his shot had been a clean miss. Hastily slipping another cartridge in the barrel, he was just about to fire when he noticed a red stream running down the shoulder. The animal began staggering, and fearing that it would pitch forwards over the 'jliff, the hunter sent another shot at it, trying to break its back, so that it would sink in its tracks. This effort, how- ■ v !: ,1 y ■ 1 . i V" 11 : if "^m^'j - •,. r! \ ; i ■ • t i j 1 i 1 1' ' ' U Hi;: I. I!( lit ^»' I 20S CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. ever, was a failure, for the goat pitched heavily for- wards and rolled down the mountain. Making his way down, the naturalist found that he had killed a large dry ewe, one of the finest specimens that he had obtained. It was in perfect condition and was fully i s h ' as an ordinary male. T%\; lO (. Jays were spent in the mountains in unsuccessfal hunting. The horses were running down in flesh so rapidly and provisions were so low that the necessity of leaving became at last deeply impressed on the mind of the naturalist, and arrange- ments were made to start. But Dyche was deter- mined to have one more hunt. He started before daylight for the mountains, in a heavy snow-storm. Finding a bear-trail, he followed this some distance, when it was crossed by a goat-track. Experience had long since taouht him the futility of follow- ing a bear-track, v.; lio turned his attention to that of the goat. Fo fo'l?.>wed it for about half a mile, when the animai was. ioen going down a ridge. The goat saw the hunte. p^ about the same time and started at full speed o\ er the rocks. Dyche followed the trail in the snow, hiding as much as possible, and at last saw tbj animal standing on a project- ing point, lookiu!^ back. After long and circuitous stalking it was iound that the goat had hurried on up the mount' ' '. The track was again followed until it enter. .^r n piece of timber. Here another circuit was ma J and tracks of bears, wolverines, and lynxes were seen, but the goat had not left the wxxls. Dyche began circling around the mountain, yy a: filing carefully. While creeping along in the heavily for- Making his 3 had killed nens that he bion and was lountains in ere running were so low it last deeply and arrange- le was deter- arted before snow-storm, me distance, Experience '■ of follow- ition to that half a mile, ridge. The ie time and ;he followed as possible, n a project- d circuitous hurried on m followed !re another wolverines, not left the e mountain, long in the A PERSISTENT HUNTER. 203 timber the hunter caught a glimpse of his quarry just as it was disappearing among the trees. A quick shot was sent after it and then it was lost to view. Hastening to the spot, he found the tracks and soon saw spots of blood. Following these about three hundred yards he came upon 'the animal, lying down. Its expression was any- thing but mild, and to avoid accidents the hunter sent another ball into it, killing it instantly. It was a fine tv/o-year-old male and was just what was needed to complete the collection. It was now raining hard, and after two hours spent in taking notes and measurements and skinning the animal, Dyche threw the skin across his shoulders as a pro- tection from the rain and started for camp. It was almost dark and the distance was long, but the hunters were to move the next day and it would not do to leave the specimen on the mountain. He staggered along and finally reached camp with his precious load. His knees were in a fearful condition, but he rubbed them until they felt better, and then spent several hours preparing his specimens for packing. The horses had had a long rest, but were in bad condition from lack of proper food, and it was a hard trip over the mountains to Thorp's ranch, which was finally reached with as fine a lot of specimens as was ever carried out of the country. i^. • ' ■ ^i\\ i;> i if: '■ ■ f , : i ' i H\ m » J I ^•, J. fil i ;m i' ' ■*l 1,^ iJi 'II HI CHAPTER XIV. K' ) ! '*';'^i On Kettle River — Two Model Camp Companions — A Royal Deer — Eating Beaver Tails — A Tramp over the Moun- tains — Wolves about the Cabin — Varieties of Deer, HREE days were spent at Thorp's ranch, recuperating from the hardships of the goat-hunt. Specimens were stored and packed, and then arrangements were made with Maurice Farrell and George McLaughlin for a second trip up Kettle River. These men were old mountaineers and knew every foot of the country for many miles around. They were sure they could take Dyche to where he could find caribou. They had spent the previous winter at the cabir mentioned in a former chapter, which they had built, and they had brought out with them in the spring over a thousand dollars' worth of furs. They had frequently seen caribou near the cabin, and Indians had told them that they were abundant on the mountains above. These stories made Dyche believe that he could accomplish the entire object of his trip to this country. The start was made with a string of a dozen pack- horses. McLaughlin's readiness in finding a trail through the mountains and forests had earned for him the title of Pathfinder, while Farrell was con- sidered the best campman in the whole country, 204 !P 'I ft 3ns — A Royal ^er the Moun- )f Deer. orp's ranch, ihips of the stored and nents were McLaughlin e men were the country e they could Thevhad lentioned in ad they had a thousand uently seen told them 18 above, at he could lis country, lozen pack- ing a trail earned for 11 was con- le country, ] ?' 4 ■( i •}^m :\ \ ' i. w f: ■k, f-'S ■ Off for a long tramp. i. ♦ i H ' ' - ■ 'If li '^1 TWO MODEL CAMP COMPANIONS. 205 ! >^^ it his especial forte being the preparation of a meal. He demonstrated on this trip that he fully under- stood the art of camp-cooking. Pancakes were his specialty, and these were cooked in a style that would put many famous chefs to shame. With a frying-pan in each hand, he would keep them turning and twisting with a simple movement of the wrist until the cake would turn over with a precision that caused each part to be perfectly cooked. Nor was anything else neglected while this was being done, for the trout or venison steak v/as cooked to a turn, and the coffee and biscuits were never known to be amiss. The first camp was made at Wannacut Lake, and while the Pathfinder and the naturalist unpacked the horses and arranged the camp, Farrell prepared sup- per, the first regular meal of the expedition. Fried ham, boiled potatoes, fruit, pancakes, and coffee were soon ready, and the signal which was always used on this trip was given : "Square yourselves for action, boys." They "squared themselves, "and the principal com- ment was that they wanted more. The alkali water of the lake so embittered the coffee and pancakes that it was hard to swallow them, but they managed to make a good meal. The village of Wannacut was about a mile from camp, and after supper Farrell v/ent there with a bucket for water with which to cook breakfast. The horses had a good supply of water and grass at Rock Creek, and next day at two o'clock in the after- noon Kettle River was reached. Here Farrell and 1.. , 111 ^11 i i 1 . ] l\ i .M 1 \'i ■ 4 i ': III ) I m CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. Dyche left the outfit and went to a Chinese settle- ment and purchased eighty pounds of "spuds," or potatoes. These were placed in two bags which they carried in front of them on the saddles, and then it took all the rest of the day to catch up with the Path- tinder, who had gone ahead with the train. On the way " Kettle River Armstrong" was met, a ranch- man who devoted his attention to raising horses on a ranch on the middle fork of the river. Armstrong said that caribou were thick about his ranch. He had seen where four had passed by a few days be- fore. He tried to induce the hunters to go to his ranch, but they decided to follow their original plans. Their route lay into the wilderness described in a previous chapter, and at the forks of the river McLaughlin had made camp and was awaiting them. A heavy rain fell next day as they prepared to start, but no one seemed to think any the worse of the weather, and jokes were flying thick and fast as the trail was taken. A deer became too curious and his venison swelled the larder. Camp was made that evening in the forest, and while Dyche and McLaughlin were attending to the horses, Farrell was preparing a supper fit for the gods. Farrell compelled the others to strictly observe one thing, and that was that they should not come "putterin' around the fire. " They willingly acceded to this de- mand, and only when the cry of " Square yourselves for action" was given did they venture near. Another day of travel took them to the cabin, and here the two men were at home. Sitting around the fire they related enough of their experiences to fill TWO MODEL CAMP COMPANIONS. 207 rffl >, fj 1 I t ' i scores of books of adventure and hunting. They told how they had secured thousands of dollars' worth of furs with their traps and guns, how fifty beaver and numerous wolverines, lynxes, otters, fishers, mar- tens, wolves, and other animals which came their way had been captured. They told of the gaunt, black timber- wolves which roamed in great bands through the trackless forests and destroyed many deer ; how it was almost impossible to trap or poison them, for they were too shrewd to eat poisoned meat or go near a trap ; how a pack of the big hungry brutes would kill and eat a deer and leave no vestige of it except a few scattered hairs on the snow. The very bones would be crunched and swallowed by the rav- enous beasts. McLaughlin showed where he had stood and seen a fine buck dash from the forest and run directly towards him, its tongue hanging out as it panted from the great exertion. The presence of man did not frighten it, for it was fleeing from a more deadly enemy. As it passed on a pack of howling wolves burst from the woods on its trail, and it was not un- til three of them fell before the balls from the trap- per's Winchester that the ferocious brutes turned back into the depths of the forest. McLaughlin told of that mysterious animal, the wolverine, which the Indians have so aptly named the " mountain devil ; " how the trap must be fast- ened to swinging poles or the animal will carry it away. Even when the trap is chained to a pole the wolverine sometimes climbs the chain and gnaws the pole through, carrying off the whole load. One S>W I' VI m 1 1^ ^•i. l-i 308 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. . I .' 1 ¥■ . it 1 1? t i , p ;i'. I' got away with a small trap, and two weeks later his fresh trail was seen in the snow and the trap was still dragging behind him. Another carried off a larger trap a few days later, and then the Path- finder concluded it was time to do something to pre- vent the wolverines from " setting a line of traps," and he took a pair of blankets and two days' provis- ions and started on the trail. He travelled fifty or sixty miles, but failed to catch the robber. Two days were spent at the old cabin, and Dyche was well pleased with the energy displayed by his new companions. McLaughlin went four or five miles up the river hunting for a new camping-place, and seeing a fine mule buck standing in a suitable place he killed it, "just to mark the spot." It was snowing heavily next morning when he and Dyche started out to see what was in the country. The trappers had told the naturalist of a big buck which they had seen here several times, but the animal was so wary that they had never been able to get within gunshot of it. Their description made him a veritable giant. The dense woods had great fasci- nation for the naturalist, for here he felt that he might find new animals at almost any moment. In three hours he reached the top of the mountain and there found numerous tracks of bears, wolverines, fishers, and deer. Many deer were to be seen standing about in the woods, and now and then they would move away with long, graceful strides for a few hundred yards, and then stand and gaze at the intruder with a " wonder what you are? " stare. As the hunter approached the edge of the woods he eks later trap was arvied off the ii'ath- ig to pre- )f traps," rs' provis- d fifty or nd Dyche ed by his ir or five ing-place, a suitable " It was nd Dyche try. Tlie lick which tie animal ble to get lade him a ■eat fasci- t he might In three and there es, fishers, ling about Duld move r hundred •uder with 3 woods he A ROYAL DEER. 209 saw about a dozen deer standing on a ridge. When they moved away Dyche caught sight of an enor- mous buck which led the band. He stood a full head and shoulders above the rest, and at once the natu- ralist thought of the big buck of which McLaughlin had spoken. Attempting a stalk, he soon found that the animals were too wary. He did not like to be outwitted, and started back on his trail until he was well out of sight, when he began a wide detour in order to get ahead of the band. After travelling over a mile he reached a spot where he thought he was ahead of the deer. While moving quietly through the woods he caught a glimpse of a band of deer in front of him. As they were looking directly at him he stopped. Just then the big buck came stepping proudly from the timber, gazing in the di- rection of the hunter. As he stood with head erect he made a magnificent picture, but the naturalist lost no time looking at it. He sent a bullet through the animal's breast and it dropped at the crack of the guri. This was a fine specimen, the largest deer that Dyche h-'xt ever seen. There was not an ounce of fat on him. If he had been in the condition that he undoubtedly was earlier in the year he would have appeared as large as an elk. The measurements were taken carefully and they were something wonderful for a deer. His standing height was forty-four inches from the top of his back to the flat of his hoof. The circumference of the body behind the forelegs was fifty-one inches ; that of the abdomen was fifty- five inches. The skin, skull, and leg bones weighed forty pounds, and the naturalist carried the load four \ ! I ♦ 1 >'l \ \' f' i ; ! > ) ! i j • , " 1 ' llll ■' 4n , ■* i ; .(! i II Il ,' M 210 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. n I or five miles to camp, only to receive the severe cen- sure of Farrell for making a pack-horse of himself when there were so many " cayuses " standing around. McLaughlin was out three days, and when he re- turned he reported a few signs of caribou. One or two of them had been feeding on the bunches of black m<>ds which hung frcm the trees at a place about ten miles from camp. The trail was taken in that direction, and after a hard day's travel a little meadow ' reached during a driving snow-storm. Camp w; .Ae under difficulties, and it was some time before a big log fire made the hunters com- f citable. With a bright fire, hot supper, and many good stories, they were soon laughing and joking as if there was no such thing as a snow-storm. As the night deepened a pack of timber- wolves made their ap- pearance and serenaded the new-comers. In the deep stillness of the forest these weird howls brought many tales of danger to the minds of the campers, but they were not of a mould to be scared at snarling wolves and all were soon fast asleep. Several days were now spent in exploring the coun- try, which was found to be an immense jungle, and then Dychc and Farrell made an effort to reach the mountains on the east. From this place could be seen a great wilderness of trees, but off to the north- east appeared the shimmering water of several lakes. The bald mountain to which Dyche had travelled on foot several weeks before reared its snow-covered head above all the others. After long consultation that night Farrell and McLaughlin determined to cross the range and go down the middle fork of the evere cen- )f himself ig around, len he re- Oue or unches of it a place taken in el a little 3w-8torm. was some ters com- tnd many joking as . As the 3 their ap- 1 the deep ^ht many but they ig wolves the coun- Qgle, and each the could be he north- ral lakes, veiled on '^-covered sultation nined to k of the EATING BEAVER TAILS. 211 river to a point about fifty miles above Armstrong's ranch. The party at once set about to find a way out of the cafion, and after a whole day's chopping a path was cleared. Meanwhile Farrell had set a lot of beaver-traps and caught two fine animals. The tails and hams, cooked with beans and pork stew, made a most palatable dish for the hungry hunters. The tail was considered a great luxury. The trip over the range next day was enlivened by Dyche's horse, Chief, which suddenly ran away and bucked off the pack of cooking utensils. The outfit was scattered over the mountain and Farrell took the affair as an especial insult to himself. After indulging in very strong mountain language about the horse, he offered to present the naturalist with a good one if he would give the runaway a ball from his Winchester. Hard work was the rule next day, and evening found them still on the side of the mountain. McLaughlin's great exertion with the axe and his abstinence from food during the day now had a bad effect, and he was suddenly attacked by cramps and he rolled on the ground groaning in pain. Dyche and Farrell ministered to his trouble as best they could, and by dint of rubbing at last succeeded in re- lieving him so that he felt able to travel. Before grass and water was reached, however, the cramps returned with increased severity and they were com- pelled to camp in the big woods. A fire was made and the sick man rolled up in a bundle of blankets and warmed, but he suffered intensely, and it was only after long and vigorous rubbing that he became easier. Farrell found that they were within two hun- '. ^i! tiM 1 I) : :i I ill 4 m f|( ■"'1 ( • II th ( m ! I