THE END OF THE TRAIL 291 



moose. The next morning, in company with 

 Nelson, I crossed into the park to view some 

 immense stacks of hay that had been standing 

 here, unused and rotting, for years, with the 

 bones of elk that had starved to death the previ- 

 ous winter scattered about the stacks. 



Late in the afternoon I resumed the trail and 

 the following evening, after dark, rode into Em- 

 igrant in a snow squall. The next afternoon I 

 saddled Button, left Heart to rest in a stable, 

 and rode north to see Henry Lambert, an old- 

 time guide, rancher, and pioneer, whose ranch 

 lies twenty miles from Emigrant. I had been 

 directed to turn into the first lane to the right, 

 after passing a small church, and to follow the 

 lane up a canon. It was dusk when I passed 

 the church and found the first lane, and dark 

 before I reached the canon. The lane road had 

 petered out into a path, and when I entered the 

 canon there was no indication that it was in- 

 habited. Neither trail nor surroundings could 

 be seen, and I turned back to make inquiries at 

 a cottage near the church. A clerical-looking 

 individual answered my knock. 



"Can you direct me," I inquired, "to Henry 

 Lambert's ranch?" 



"I can direct you, sir," said he, "but Mr. 

 Lambert's ranch would be difficult to find at 



