One of the most picturesque sections of our country lies in the valleys and depressions formed by the Gallatin River where it winds its way among the rugged mountains of Montana. Sometimes the river steals noiselessly through level spots, forming great pools of clear greenish water, where the big rainbow trout love to bask in the sunshine which the gamy fish love for its brightness more than its warmth. Frequently the stream challenges the obstructions of masses of rock, forcing its way with angry murmurs to its destination. Amid such scenes I fell into repose, while sitting near a large camp-fire, yielding to the heaviness due to a hearty meal and a long day’s travel on horseback.

I do not remember how I managed to make up my rustic bed, or whether I had anything to do with it at all. I simply recall the quiet scenes around the camp-fire, the ruddy faces of my companions as they caught the glow from the burning fagots and the wild scene which surrounded us. I entered dreamland in the same way everyone else does. The unreal realm of fancy I accepted as a matter of course, but when the chill of a cold autumn night gradually revived me to consciousness and the sullen gloom of the silent forest, only broken by a murmuring stream nearby, had succeeded the cheerful camp-fire, I returned to the world of reality with a feeling of strangeness and wonder. I rubbed my eyes to make sure if I was really awake, and lay watching the stars shining brightly overhead. The beauty of the night, however, was not sufficient to keep me awake, and when I had finished my night’s rest it was broad daylight, and my two companions, Jake and Aleck, were already astir. Aleck was the cook and general handy man about camp. Jake acted as guide and horse wrangler. These men could take a turn at helping each other, but each had his special work cut out for him. In packing and pitching tents they were mutually helpful. Whenever things went wrong and descriptive language was required to soothe irritated feelings, their common desire to aid each other developed into a generous rivalry. Aleck was busy getting breakfast ready, but the other man was not in sight.

“Where is Jake?” I asked.

“Gone after the horses,” Aleck answered.

“Do you suppose they are gone far?”

“Oh, maybe a mile, maybe fifteen,” was the enlightening response.

When camping out in the Western country horses are an uncertain quantity. They are apt to wander over a considerable space in search of good pasturage, which is not easy to find on account of the extreme dryness of the soil and the difficulty of any vegetation thriving which cannot shoot its roots deep into the earth. Fortunately Jake soon appeared with the stock.

“We will have the tents up so that you can be comfortable to-night,” he remarked with a look as though he were conveying a most welcome piece of intelligence, for we had been sleeping out in the open for several nights.

With the air of one who despised all such things as enervating luxuries, I replied: “Let that go to some other time; we want to get an early start after something.”

“It won’t take long to put up the tents and then Aleck can get everything else to rights while we are hunting,” Jake replied.

I ate a substantial breakfast, and after finishing that meal I ate a substantial lunch before starting. Needless to say, I felt in no condition for vigorous exercise which I would be compelled to take when our course led over ascents too steep to take on horseback. About lunch time, however, my capricious and unreasoning stomach, like some people who are mere slaves of custom and routine, demanded a square meal, which was not to be had.

Two dogs, which served more as sociable companions about camp than in any other capacity, accompanied us. One of the dogs was a large-sized bull-terrier, rather old and at times inclined to be cross. This animal answered to the name of Major. Major had a peculiar trait, which it is hard to account for. In the evening, when the cook pulled out his harmonicon and began to perform on it, Major would stick his nose straight up in the air and emit the most doleful and lugubrious wail I ever listened to.

The other dog was a fox-terrier, named Jack, like most of his species, a very animated little creature, always ready for a scrap. This disposition was a source of annoyance at times, because Jack had a strong prejudice against porcupines, and on several occasions I have had to sit on the ground and help pull the quills out of his hide after one of these encounters.

As I was leisurely riding along some distance behind the guide I saw him stop on a slight elevation somewhat in advance, and at the same time I heard the dogs barking very savagely. Jake made a sign to me to hurry up. When I arrived at the spot I saw a couple of coyotes not more than forty yards away yelping and tantalizing the dogs. I dismounted, after pulling my rifle out of its scabbard, and brought it carelessly to my shoulder. Jake in the meantime had unsheathed his knife ready to strip the hides.

I fired, and, much to my surprise, both of the coyotes vanished with startling suddenness. I had evidently missed, probably overshooting. I think it was about the worst shot I ever made, and I never could understand it. A sportsman will once in a while flinch through some muscular contraction which it is hard to account for. The thick sage brush and intervening hills made a second shot practically hopeless. Jake seemed overcome with emotion, quite as much as myself. For once his eloquent tongue failed him; the words appeared to stick in his throat. His wide open eyes and his distended jaws, which seemed to be pried open with a quid of tobacco in one corner of his mouth, betrayed his astonishment. In silence we remounted and rode a considerable space without speaking a word.

Finally Jake opened the conversation with all the tact of an accomplished diplomat.

Turning in his saddle and looking intently at me he exclaimed: “Say, do you know what I would do if I missed a shot like that?”

“No,” I replied.

“I would take that gun and smash it over the first rock I came across.”

I quite agreed with him that it was the fault of the gun, but, strange to say, I did not take his advice. I still have the weapon and I can recall some of its achievements, which are not wholly discreditable.

Several days passed quite uneventfully except for a rather novel experience. While sitting around the camp-fire one evening our attention was attracted by the noise of some animal breaking through the undergrowth. The sound of cracking branches and pattering hoofs seemed to approach closer.

“That’s one of the horses, and he seems inclined to be sociable,” said Jake as he leaned over to lay hold of a good-sized stick to cast at him.

The animal presently appeared, coming straight to the camp-fire, but when fairly revealed by the light the horse we were about to drive unceremoniously away developed a splendid set of antlers. We were confronted by a black-tailed deer which had been attracted by the strange fascination of the blaze to within several paces, where he stood perfectly still. No one moved nor uttered a word for a considerable space for fear of alarming our timid guest. It was a charming sight to watch the graceful and shapely form of the deer, his head crowned with a perfectly balanced set of antlers, the wide open eyes staring in bewilderment at three rough looking men sitting around the fire like petrified images. The deer held his position for some thirty seconds rigid and immovable, except the swelling of his sides in breathing, while the glowing embers brought out in distinct view every line and muscle of the body against the dark background of the forest.

He posed like a beautiful statue with all the advantage of picturesque and weird surroundings to set off his perfect figure.

What a chance for a photographer to take a snapshot of the group with a flashlight. Sad to relate, the only impression I could take away with me was that which was photographed upon my mind. In place of a photograph to show to my friends I am compelled to relate the bare circumstance with but limited power to portray the scene in words; the imagination of the reader must do the rest.

How long the tableau would have lasted I cannot say, if I had not pulled the curtain, so to speak, by attempting to reach out and get my rifle, which was nearby. I knew it was a desperate chance, but I was extremely anxious to secure the head of our handsome guest.

Hardly had I attempted to move my hand in the direction of the rifle, although very slowly, than the watchful eyes seemed to become conscious of something wrong, and the spell was broken. With a single leap the deer cleared the lighted space and was lost in the darkness of the forest.

It is a well known fact that wild animals and birds are stupefied at the appearance of artificial light. Birds are often attracted by it, while animals, dazed by the strangeness of the sight and the glare, seem to lose at times all power of motion. Whether it is because of curiosity or on account of the judgment becoming paralyzed through excessive fear, artificial light of great intensity seems to deprive a wild animal of his usual cunning and alertness. Wildfowl, such as ducks and geese, are notably affected in the same way. “Firelighting,” which it is well known, involves the destruction of so many thousands of game birds every year, fairly illustrates and proves the foregoing statement. Insects seem strangely attracted by artificial lights and frequently pay for their temerity with their lives. What impression artificial light makes upon wild animals it is hard to state. Sportsmen know how easily a deer can be taken at a disadvantage by “jacking,” but this does not account for one entering the lighted circle of a camp-fire. Instances of wild animals being approached when stupefied by the presence of artificial light are plentiful, but I have never known before of any animal actually invading a camp and standing in front of the fire.

When we had exhausted comment upon the unusual incident, which was the absorbing theme for conversation for the balance of the evening, a good night’s sleep came as relaxation from the exercise of the day.

The morning broke bright and clear and quite cold. Breakfast was soon bolted down. An abomination which Aleck called a pancake was the principal article of our repast. This dish compensated by its size and quantity for what it lacked in other respects. Even Jake, whose digestion might excite the envy of an ostrich, hesitated before tackling a second one. Aleck, seeing his uncertain look, asked him whether he would have another pancake.

“Only a small piece about the size of your foot,” Jake replied.

Having saddled the horses the guide took a course which led along a rocky defile for a considerable distance. While looking up at the red sandstone cliffs, which overhung us, and admiring the contrast their rugged outlines furnished against the clear blue of the sky, I saw a large bald-headed eagle perched upon a commanding eminence. His figure was sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, and although I knew he was quite a distance off, I was somewhat surprised when the guide computed the range at 300 yards at least. I reined up my horse and threw the lines over his head. As Jake saw me alight to take aim, a sort of weary expression came over his face. He was evidently thinking of the coyotes. After carefully sighting the bird and gauging the range according to the estimate I had received, I fired. For several seconds the wings fluttered, as the eagle strove to balance himself on his perch, and then he collapsed in a lifeless mass, a few feet below.

Having watched the lifeless shape a few seconds, I reloaded the rifle without betraying any signs of emotion or uttering a word. Although my eyes were turned in a different direction, I felt conscious of a penetrating gaze which seemed to go through me like an X-ray and read my inmost thought. Turning to mount my horse, I met the wide-open eyes of Jake staring at me in astonishment. Neither of us said a word for some time, but Jake was thinking, wondering whether it was an accident or a fair exhibition of my skill. The only data he had to work on in drawing his conclusions was the previous bad marksmanship in shooting at the coyotes, and the telling recent shot at the eagle, which I seemed to regard as a matter of course, but I acted the same way when I missed the coyotes.

Jake displayed the same resourcefulness that a curious woman will sometimes exercise upon receiving a letter: first she looks at the post-mark, then at the handwriting of the address and, after exhausting all the pros and cons to determine what the contents of the letter are, finally strikes upon a happy idea—she opens the letter and reads it. After Jake had thoroughly turned the incident over in his mind he finally remarked, in a tone pitched between an exclamation and an interrogation point: “I guess you were surprised when you fetched that bird down?” My presence of mind did not leave me; I gave Jake good advice about marksmanship and shooting in general. He thanked me and said he hoped I would give him some points about guiding and outfitting, as he was trying to learn the business.

Game being rather scarce in this section we concluded to move camp and try our luck in the Jackson’s Hole country. For a short time I made headquarters near a ranch on Jackson’s Lake. This body of water is situated quite close to the Grand Tetons, which tower thousands of feet above its surface. The crest of these great formations, like a mighty arm stretching a curtain over the western sky, receives the rays of the morning sun long before they reach the narrow valley below. It is interesting and beautiful to see the golden light slowly creeping down the slopes of these great mountains, until at last the sun, having climbed well into the sky, suddenly pours its golden flood of light in one immense deluge into the lake. The transition is startling.

The trout in the lake grow to a very large size and are very gamy. There are a few hot springs in this locality which, however, do not affect the temperature of the water, which is very cold the year round. The lake derives its main supply from the melting snows of the surrounding mountains.

I concluded to enjoy a morning’s sport fishing, and for that purpose secured a boat from the ranchman who threw in his services as well. We poled up the outlet, which was a very clear and swift stream. The trout swarmed under the boat at times in great numbers and many of them of considerable size. Flocks of wild ducks and geese, winging their way to their feeding grounds, broke the stillness of the early morning, for it was before daybreak that we started, when the stars were beginning to pale in the sky. The trout made their presence quite noticeable, frequently disturbing the surface of the water, and sometimes a big one would stir up an awful commotion. I soon had a seven-pound trout securely hooked, which I landed as soon as I was able to do so, because I wanted a change of diet.

Although I had been in camp for a couple of weeks I had been unable to get a shot at an elk, and had only seen one making its way through the thick timber. The snow had not fallen as yet, and the ground was very dry, which made hunting difficult. It was a welcome sight one morning to look out of my tent and see the ground covered with snow, and it is, moreover, surprising to notice what a difference it makes in hunting. I had not traveled more than two miles from camp on foot when I heard a long, loud whistle—a most pleasing sound. I directed my steps in the direction whence it came, and was rewarded by catching a glimpse of half a dozen elk disappearing through an opening in the timber. They were not going fast, and I do not believe they saw me.

I followed them as quickly and carefully as I could until I came to the edge of a steep descent, and saw the bunch in the valley below. In the herd there was a fine bull who seemed proud of his authority, and occasionally whistled and bugled his challenge to any possible rival disposed to dispute his lordship over the cows he had assembled around him, which by this time had considerably increased in numbers. The distance seemed too great to hazard a shot, and I thought I would circle around on the higher elevations to secure a closer range and better position. Although unfrightened, the elk began to move off with a gentle ambling gait which seems slow, but if one tries to keep up with it in a rough mountainous country he will find his energy pretty well taxed. I soon lost sight of the game and stopped partly because I was almost exhausted and also to locate the herd, if it were possible to hear it.

At first I thought I heard the hoof beats on the ground, but presently recognized that it was the action of my heart, which was beating so forcibly that I could distinctly hear it. The high elevation and the vigorous exercise often produce that effect upon one who is not used to the climate. Other sportsmen have had a similar experience. After pursuing my course some distance along the side of a steep hill my attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of breaking branches in the spruce nearby. I had not long to wait before a spike-horned elk stepped out in front of me not more than twenty-five or thirty yards off. The large brown eyes were looking straight at me with a mildness and apparent absence of fear, which removed all thought of slaughter from my mind, although at that time I had never killed an elk.

The poor quality of the head as a trophy determined my action. After gazing a few seconds I turned my steps in the direction I thought the herd had taken its course. A long, shrill whistle, ending in a squeal, blended with a bray like a donkey, soon informed me of the whereabouts of the bull I was seeking. Climbing over the crest of the hill I finally caught sight of the old bull in the valley with a bunch of cow elk collected around him, which had increased by this time to about twenty-five or thirty. The bull frequently threw his head up, giving vent to his peculiar call, which was answered now and then by several other bulls on the surrounding hills, none of which seemed willing to venture near him. I watched this spectacle for some time, endeavoring to get near enough to obtain a good shot.

Being alone and unaccustomed to the country I was unable to gauge the distance correctly. When finally I stopped at the nearest point I could reach to secure a fair shot (I was using on that occasion a .45-90 Winchester, not one of the modern high-power guns with a flat trajectory), I fired at the bull without effect and saw the whole bunch of cow elk come together in a solid mass and ascend the slope of the neighboring mountain. The cow elk acted as though panic-stricken, all striving to get as near the center of the bunch as possible while ascending the slope and interfering considerably with the movements of one another in so doing. The bull remained behind until the cows had gained a considerable start, and then followed them up the mountain. When I examined the distance from the spot where I stood when I fired at the bull to the point where he was located, I found it over 400 yards. Being unaccustomed to gauging distance at that time, I underestimated the range. The atmosphere is so clear that objects obtain a much clearer definition and seem at times nearer than they really are. A mistake in underestimating distance made a greater difference with the old .45-90 than it would with modern high power rifles. I returned to camp burning with a desire to secure a good trophy.

The next day I went out with Jake. We separated, agreeing to meet at a certain place, which, through some misunderstanding, we failed to accomplish. I soon ran upon the tracks of a big bull elk, which led directly up the steep side of a mountain. This I climbed for about six hundred feet with some trouble, when I noticed that the tracks had begun to turn and tended downward. I continued to follow them until they brought me again to the foot of the mountain, within about thirty feet of the point where I first started to trace them up. I finally ran across my guide again, and it was not long before his keen eyes picked out an elk at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards, just visible among some spruce trees. It was a cow elk, and I was indisposed to shoot it, but being reminded of the condition of the larder I concluded to try my luck. The crack of the rifle was followed by the disappearance of the animal in the timber, and I thought I had missed, but was reassured to the contrary, and when I reached the spot where the elk had stood I saw a few traces of blood, which shortly led to a brown form lying among the green spruce trees—the elk was stone dead. Standing over Jake, who was engaged in dressing the elk, I asked him if he thought I ought to smash the rifle over a rock. Looking up from his dirty work, besmeared with perspiration and gore, he replied with a grin, “Not when she throws lead like that.”

My time was drawing to a close, and although I had abundant opportunities to kill animals with inferior heads, that kind of sport did not satisfy me, and I left them to die a natural death, unless some tooth hunter has cut their existence short.

The final day passed without result, and I had to leave for a later period a more successful hunt for trophies.

The last night around the camp-fire Jake made entertaining by relating to me some of his personal experiences. The following story was told me as absolutely true: The guide had struck the trail of a mountain lion, which he followed with his pack of dogs to a tree where the trail ended. Naturally he expected to find the lion in the tree. Much to his surprise there was no lion in the tree, and no tracks of a lion leading away from the tree. The only tracks discernible were the tracks of an elk. Finally a bloodhound in the pack started off on the elk tracks. This seemed very strange, because the dogs had been thoroughly broken from following anything except lions and bobcats. The guide tried to call the dog back, but he continued to follow the elk tracks, and the rest of the pack joined in the pursuit. Following the tracks about a quarter of a mile, there appeared in the snow signs of a struggle, and then an impression upon the ground of a large animal which the elk had evidently unseated. The lion’s tracks were distinctly visible from this point for a considerable distance, until he took refuge in a pinyon tree.

It was plain that the mountain lion had jumped upon the back of a passing elk and had stolen a free ride, which he enjoyed until his saddle horse dismounted him. “That shows what a wonderfully intelligent animal a dog is,” said Jake; “just to think that they should have reasoned it out that the lion had ridden off on the elk, when I was puzzled myself to find out what had become of him.”

“Do you suppose,” chimed in Aleck, “that the dogs showed intelligence because they knew more than you did?”