CHAPTER I. 



TRAVELLING IN THE WESTERN HUNTING 

 GROUNDS. 



THERE was nothing iii the least unusual about our first camo on 

 the Pacific watershed of the Rocky Mountains one fine September 

 evening in the latter part of the "seventies." A thirsty ride of 

 some fourteen clays over the elevated sagebrush-covered plateaux 

 of Central Wyoming had tried the patience of man and beast. 

 All that day ever slackening cinches and loosened lash. ropes, with a 

 commensurate flow of strong language, had betokened how severely 

 even the most skilfully thrown Diamond hitch on the pack-horses 

 could be tested by the exceptional steepness of the mountain slope 

 up which we were labouring, or by the snaggy branches of the 

 stunted timber through which we were forcing our way. Bent upon 

 crossing the Great Divide, or Continental watershed, here repre- 

 sented by that most formidable of Rocky Mountain chains, the Big 

 Windriver range, we had to rely upon our pathfinding instincts, for 

 none of us had ever been there before. For the last few days we 

 had been following, as our sole guide, a watercourse which some 

 Soshone Indians had told us headed at the foot of one of the few 

 notches visible in that formidable one hundred and twenty miles 

 long and fifty miles wide barrier, the highest elevations of which 

 could nearly vie with those of Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa. Indeed, 

 the view presented to our eyes as we were approaching the eastern 

 face reminded me of the first sight of the Alps as the traveller 

 approaches them over the great plains of Lombardy. 



B 



