A Day with the Elk 
Early in September of 1890, we were in 
camp in the northern part of Colorado, an 
easy day’s ride from the Wyoming line. Our 
party, eight in all, consisted of myself, three 
friends, three packers, and a cook. We had 
been out nearly a month, and after the first 
week our success had been good. We were 
taking life very easily—hunting a little, fish- 
ing now and then, and doing a great deal of 
healthy “lying round camp.” 
Game was very plentiful. There were black- 
tail and elk all around us. The antelope, 
than whom the ammunition manufacturer has 
no truer friend, were within easy reach. One 
of the party had bagged two bears, and a 
packer had found a dead one, whose fore- 
paws and ears were sufficiently preserved to 
be worth a $10 bounty to the finder. 
The outfit with two exceptions was con- 
tent. Our cook, having surreptitiously drunk 
all the whisky, was struggling with an in- 
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