A COUGAR HUNT 7 



to 33 degrees Fahrenheit; there was hoarfrost 

 in the mornings. Sound was our sleep under 

 our blankets, in the open, or under a shelf of 

 rock, or beneath a tent, or most often under a 

 thickly leaved tree. Throughout the day the 

 air was cool and bracing. 



Although we reached the plateau in mid- 

 July, the spring was but just coming to an end. 

 Silver-voiced Rocky Mountain hermit-thrushes 

 chanted divinely from the deep woods. There 

 were multitudes of flowers, of which, alas ! I 

 know only a very few, and these by their ver- 

 nacular names ; for as yet there is no such hand- 

 book for the flowers of the southern Rocky 

 Mountains as, thanks to Mrs. Frances Dana, 

 we have for those of the Eastern States, and, 

 thanks to Miss Mary Elizabeth Parsons, for 

 those of California. The sego lilies, looking like 

 very handsome Eastern trilliums, were as plen- 

 tiful as they were beautiful; and there were the 

 striking Indian paint-brushes, fragrant purple 

 locust blooms, the blossoms of that strange 

 bush the plumed acacia, delicately beautiful 

 white columbines, bluebells, great sheets of blue 

 lupin, and the tall, crowded spikes of the bril- 

 liant red bell — and innumerable others. The 

 rainfall is light and the ground porous; springs 

 are few, and brooks wanting; but the trees are 



