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 
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