Big Game in the Rockies 
After breakfast, as we proposed to take a 
long day’s trip, we took our horses with us. 
Riding up to the head of the stream we were 
on, looking for bears, no signs were to be 
seen, though plenty of sheep were in sight 
all the time. Riding on, away above the 
cafion some six or eight miles we could see 
some elk. We closely scanned the neigh- 
boring heights, but still no sign of bears. 
Finally, we turned off and worked our way 
clear up on top of the mountain, determined 
to see the country anyway. Slowly we 
climbed upward, skyward, dragging our 
weary horses after us, until at noon we were 
nearly up and concluded to lunch at the 
little rill of melted snow that came from a 
big drift on the mountain-side. 
To get to it, though, we were obliged to 
cross the drift, and Woody led the way with 
his favorite horse, old Rock, in tow; and here 
was where my laugh came in, to see those 
two floundering through that drift. At times, 
all I could see of Rock was the tips of his 
ears. The crust was just strong enough to 
hold Woody up if he went “easy,” but he 
could not go easy with the horse plunging 
Ill 
