A GREAT DAY WITH GOATS 91 



After three miles of travel down the creek, over slide- 

 rock, through green timber, yellow willows, more green 

 timber and some down timber, we heard the cheerful 

 whack of Huddleston's axe, and saw on tree-trunk and 

 bough the ruddy glow of the new camp-fire. 



The new camp was pitched in one of the most fas- 

 cinating spots I ever camped within. The three tents 

 stood at the southern edge of a fine, open grove of giant 

 spruces that gave us good shelter on rainy days. Under- 

 neath the trees there was no underbrush, and the ground 

 was deeply carpeted with dry needles. Grand moun- 

 tains rose on either hand, practically from our camp- 

 fire, and for our front view a fine valley opened south- 

 ward for six miles, until its lower end was closed by the 

 splendid mass of Roth Mountain and Glacier. Close at 

 hand was a glorious pool of ice-water, and firewood " to 

 burn." Yes, there was one other feature, of great mo- 

 ment, — abundant grass for our horses, in the open 

 meadow in front of the tents. 



To crown all these luxuries, Mr. Phillips announced 

 that, according to mountain customs already established, 

 and precedents fully set, that camp would then and there 

 be named in my honor, — " Camp Hornaday." What 

 more could any sportsman possibly desire? 



