Mountain Game. 113 



warranted by the result ; for the second plunge of the 

 horses brought them up to their bellies in the morass, 

 where they stuck. It was freezing cold, with a bitter 

 wind blowing, and the bog holes were skimmed with ice ; 

 so that we passed a thoroughly wretched two hours while 

 freeing the horses and unloading the wagon. However, 

 we eventually got across ; my companion preserving an 

 absolutely unruffled temper throughout, perseveringly 

 whistling the " Arkansas Traveller." At one period, 

 when we were up to our waists in the icy mud, it began 

 to sleet and hail, and I muttered that I v/ould " rather it 

 did n't storm " ; whereat he stopped whistling for a moment 

 to make the laconic rejoinder, " We 're not having our 

 rathers this trip." 



At nightfall we camped among the willow bushes by a 

 little brook. For firewood we had only dead willow sticks ; 

 they made a hot blaze which soon died out ; and as the 

 cold grew intense, we rolled up in our blankets as soon as 

 we had eaten our supper. The climate of the Big Hole 

 Basin is alpine ; that night, though it was the 20th of 

 AuQfust, the thermometer sank to 10° F. 



Early next morning we struck camp, shivering with 

 cold as we threw the stiff, frozen harness on the horses. 

 We soon got among the foot-hills, where the forest was 

 open and broken by large glades, forming what is called a 

 park country. The higher we went the smaller grew the 

 glades and the denser the woodland ; and it began to be 

 very difficult to get the wagon forward. In many places 

 one man had to go ahead to pick out the way, and if 

 necessary do a little chopping and lopping with the axe, 



