Mountain Game 135 



ing our team got mired in crossing a slough. We 

 attempted the crossing with some misgivings, which 

 were 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 un 

 loading the wagon. However, we eventually got 

 across; my companion preserving an absolutely un 

 ruffled temper throughout, perseveringly whistling 

 the &quot;Arkansaw Traveler.&quot; 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 would &quot;rather 

 it didn t storm&quot;; whereat he stopped whistling for 

 a moment to make the laconic rejoinder, &quot;We re 

 not having our rathers this trip.&quot; 1 



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 2Oth of August, the ther 

 mometer 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 foothills, where 

 the forest was open and broken by large glades, 



