American Big-Game Hunting 
water to drink. That was warm, with a sul- 
phurous flavor, owing to the hot springs close 
by the shore and under the water as well, 
besides holding many wigglers. I strained 
a bottleful of water through some linen and 
hung it on the limb of a tree, waiting for it to 
cool, and looking at it with the hungry eye 
of a wolf watching meat hung out of reach. 
My Indian pony had a new experience the 
following morning. After starting our pack- 
train, we skirted the shores of Yellowstone 
Lake, and coming to a quick-running stream, 
which in its clearness looked very inviting, 
the Indian pony succeeded in loosing her 
trail-rope, and pushed her head nearly up to 
her eyes into this clear water. Withdrawing 
it quickly with a scream, she cut such capers 
that for a while our pack-train was more or 
less disarranged. The water had run only a 
short distance from a boiling spring, and the 
heat had taken off a good deal of the hair 
from her face. For twenty-four hours I could 
not induce her to drink. 
On the trail to the outlet of Yellowstone 
Lake, I saw several bands of elk, and rode 
within thirty yards of them. They did not 
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