American Big-Game Hunting 



But all things must have an end, and at last, 

 late in the evening, we find ourselves en- 

 camped on the banks of that stream, beautiful 

 despite its unfortunate name. 



Fording the river the next morning, not a 

 very terrifying operation in its present low 

 stage, we climb the steep bank and soon be- 

 gin our long ascent of the divide that sepa- 

 rates us from our ranch and Greybull River. 

 Accompanied by an immense amount of ex- 

 pletives, and very bad language, the mules 

 are finally induced to gain the summit. Here 

 even the most casual observer could not fail 

 to be impressed with the magnificent and ap- 

 parently indefinite expanse of mountain scen- 

 ery, that, turn which way he will, meets his 

 view. However, we have no time to linger, 

 and picking our way among the countless buf- 

 falo wallows which indent the level surface of 

 the summit, the wagon, with its wheels double 

 locked, is soon groaning and creaking down 

 the descent, which leads to the merrily rush- 

 ing Meeteetse, following which, down to its 

 junction with Greybull, we are soon inside 

 our own fence, and are joyously welcomed by 

 the dogs. Here, too, I find my trusty friend 



