52 



THE MUSEUM. 



en an opportunity. The enclosure in 

 which he was kept was about 25 feet 

 square and i 5 feet high. In the early 

 morning he put in his time trying to 

 butt down the wall, and the deep scars 

 and dents showed how hard he had 

 hit. He had jumped to within ■ a few 

 feet of the top, and if given space for 

 a run could in all probability clear it. 

 It seems a pit}' to keep the poor ani- 

 mal housed up in such a close pen, yet 

 if this had not been done we could not 

 have seen this beautiful creature, nor 

 have had the fine picture from life 

 which is here presented. The animal 

 was captured in winter when the snow 

 was deep. Mr. Rock can pet him a 

 little, but no one else dares lay a hand 

 on him. 



The Elk were captured in the same 

 way, and are kept in a large pasture, 

 where they have become quite tame. 

 It was a fine chance for study, and we 

 took advantage of it. Several peculiar 

 features were noticed in Elks, one being 

 the way the neck is carried. Instead of 

 holding the head erect, as does the 

 Mountain Sheep, the neck has a dis- 

 tinct bend, something like that of a 

 camel, giving the animal an awkward 

 appearance. Ordinarily the bulls and 

 cows hold the head alike, yet when 

 the bull is alarmed and rears his head 

 the appearance changes materially, 

 and he is indeed a proud and stately 

 specimen. 



Near this farms lives an old squaw 

 who had a pair ot fine Prong-horn An- 

 telopes. When we were there she 

 possessed but one, wearing a bell 

 whose tinkle could be heard but a few 

 hundred feet. The other was shot by 

 an Englishman out for game. Spying 

 the pair out on the level flat and see- 

 ing no houses he drew a bead On one 



of the pretty pets and pulled the trig- 

 ger. How he settled it with the 

 squaw we did not learn. But from 

 the fabulous prices she asked for her 

 little trophies it probably was to her 

 advantage. 



From Henry Lake it is little more 

 than half day's drive to Riverside, 

 where we give up our guns. It is a 

 lovely ride. We cross the mountain 

 range by a pass with an almost imper- 

 ceptible incline. The tall pines all along 

 the road, silent, beautiful, even majes- 

 tic, lend a charm that is always the 

 same. We have become interested in 

 the blazes on the trees, which mark 

 the road when the snow is deep. We 

 turn into lovely glens, cross crystal 

 streams, jump out occasionally to land 

 a fine insect, pluck fine flowers for 

 later study, and the time passes swift- 

 ly enough. "Put Out Your Fires " in 

 a conspicuous place by the roadside 

 warns the traveler that he is near the 

 Park. Next "Rules," at the top of a 

 large placard, greets the eye, and we 

 have crossed the line. Fire Hole 

 Basin, which we long so much to 

 reach, is not far off, and we prepare 

 to house our guns. 



Riverside, at this entrance to the 

 Park is a queer place. A little log 

 hut, with a log stable, comprise the 

 village. The inhabitants are a ser- 

 gant and a private. We left them a 

 mess of stuff that filled up much of 

 their available space, but they were 

 jolly good fellows, and said little. The 

 sergant, Frank A. Burns, of Little 

 Falls,. New York, had been there eight 

 seasons' and had a keen eye for every- 

 one entering the Park by that road. 

 The second time I came to his cabin 

 he walked right out, called me by 

 name and grasped my hand. Through 



