260 Annals of the Carnegie Museum. 



After leaving the Camas meadows the land is again semi-arid, but 

 the country is not quite so smooth and level, and in some places, 

 where the road winds through a maze of sage-brush and hillocks of 

 lava, pleasant groves of quaking aspen are seen. These at a distance 

 appear to be ideal camping-places, and one expects' to find in their 

 shade, cool springs of water ; but not a drop is to be found. The 

 land as one travels eastward becomes more rolling, and sage-brush 

 more abundant. 



Finally to the eastward there appears a low mountain almost com- 

 pletely covered with dense growths of pine. These pine forests extend 

 to the eastern horizon. North of the mountain there is a large area 

 of meadow-land, from which a small stream bordered by broad meadows 

 flows to the eastward and enters Henry's Fork of the Snake River. 

 The stream is called Shot-gun Creek. The thought occurred to me 

 that this would be a delightful place for sport, rest, and recreation — 

 a charming retreat for one, who for a season wishes to see less of man 

 and more of nature. In the streams are fish and waterfowl, and in 

 the mountains and forests grouse and larger game abound. Hundreds 

 of fine looking cattle were feeding in the meadows. There were 

 houses along the stream, but aside from the ranch-house in which Rea 

 postoffice is located, they were not inhabited. I discovered the reason 

 a little later. 



Occasionally I caught views of what appeared to be a high ridge or 

 plateau to the eastward, and along its face, at various heights, were 

 what appeared to be exposures of light-colored rocks. I found later 

 that this region lay inside of the Yellowstone National Park, the 

 greater portion of which is known only to a few, and consis's of rugged 

 forested regions far from any road or trail. 



At dusk, crossing a bridge at Henry's Fork, I entered what seemed 

 to be a little village in the open border of the great pine woods, on 

 the river's bank. It was the summer resort of Mr. A. S. Trude, a 

 noted criminal lawyer of Chicago, who I found owned the land on 

 which I had been travelling for several miles. Here I spent the night, 

 and was pleased to see in the people a harmonious blending of west- 

 ern freedom and genuine eastern kindness and courtesy. It is pleasant 

 to see a man like Mr. Trude, who has the good sense to forsake for a 

 time the crowded city and its perplexities to enjoy, like a boy, the 

 mysterious fascination of a delightful wilderness like this. 



That night it snowed again. The next morning a winding road 



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