236 SADDLE AND CAMP 



It was twelve o'clock, he said, "by the sun," 

 and I "better stop." My watch verified his 

 guess, but I excused myself on the plea of short 

 days and the necessity of taking advantage of 

 all the daylight to travel. I was well aware 

 that he had little enough for himself to eat, 

 without entertaining strangers, and it would 

 have insulted his sense of hospitality had I even 

 suggested using my own provisions, for Jack 

 Davis is a remnant of the early Western fron- 

 tier. 



My trail carried me thence past some steam- 

 ing sulphur springs and to Hoback's River, 

 which I forded not far from its junction with 

 the Snake. This is the lower winter range of 

 the great elk herds that congregate along the 

 Snake River valley, through Jackson's Hole, to 

 the Gros Ventre. 



The Hoback is another river that brings viv- 

 idly to our mind the desperate struggle of the 

 party of trappers under Mr. Hunt in their over- 

 land journey to the Columbia. From the sum- 

 mit of the Wind River Range they had caught 

 their first view of the giant Tetons which one 

 of the guides assured them marked the upper 

 waters of the Columbia. These were their 

 pilots for many days, and Hunt named them 

 the "Pilot Knobs." Their course thence car- 



