THE FRONTIER ONCE MORE 205 



Presently ranches were left behind, and the 

 trail turned into the wooded mountains to wind 

 up a narrow defile down which Beaver Creek, 

 a magnificent trout stream, tumbled over a 

 rocky bed. Here in a turn in the trail I sud- 

 denly came upon a cowboy riding a jaded horse, 

 and driving three or four loose ones ahead. 



"Hello, Stranger," he said, "got some to- 

 bacco? I'm plumb dyin' and famished for a 

 smoke." 



While he rolled a cigarette from my tobacco 

 he remarked that he had lost his pouch the day 

 before, and I was the first person he had met 

 since. 



"Come down from Bear Lake?" I asked. 



"Yes. Been punchin' with an outfit in Idaho, 

 and I'm headin' for Ogden to sell these cayuses. 

 Reckon you're ridin' range?" 



"No, just looking the country over. I'm 

 going to Jackson's Hole." 



"Hell of a country to go through," he vol- 

 unteered. "It's plumb skinned of feed between 

 here and the lake. Sheep's et everything clean 

 and it's a damn outrage. It ain't likely you'll 

 strike any feed this side of Star Valley." 



This was the report everywhere, and this lack 

 of forage for horses, due to the ravages of sheep, 

 is the one great obstacle placed in the way of 



