66 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



last old S. is off his legs, and here comes Buck- 

 skin, his nose on the ground, and his heels like 

 twin comets flashing furiously all over the place. 

 How we ever stopped the brute I forget, but when 

 we did he had utterly worn himself ,out as well 

 as S. and myself, while his load was scattered 

 in quiet corners, down steep banks, and in thick 

 bushes along the trail for a mile and a half from 

 the point at which he stood shaking all over, the 

 sweat running off him, and his two captors too 

 dead beat to swear. 



Whilst we wearily hunted for the wreckage of 

 what had once been a neat pack, the sun began 

 to sink behind the ridge, and when old S. had 

 given the last vicious tug to the diamond hitch 

 which bound the pack again to the saddle, 

 seven miles lay between us and our camp, and 

 barely an hour of daylight remained. And all 

 this because the smell of the fresh bear-skin had 

 been a little too much for the pony's nerves. 

 Nor was the weary ride in the dusk the end of 

 our trouble. Though we camped in the dark we 

 had failed to make our point, and the place at 

 which we set up our tent was a bare patch, amid 

 the pines, a long way above the level of the 

 river, amongst the great boulders of which the 

 hapless beasts had to be turned out to look for 

 their .supper. At all times a bad camp, it was 



