CAMP LIFE NEAR THE TETONS 



the elk was stone dead. Standing over Jake, 

 who was engaged in dressing the elk, I asked 

 him if he thought I ought to smash the rifle 

 over a rock. Looking up from his dirty 

 work, besmeared with perspiration and gore, 

 he replied with a grin, "Not when she throws 

 lead like that." 



My time was drawing to a close, and 

 although I had abundant opportunities to kill 

 animals with inferior heads, that kind of 

 sport did not satisfy me, and I left them to 

 die a natural death, unless some tooth hunter 

 has cut their existence short. 



The final day passed without result, and I 

 had to leave for a later period a more suc- 

 cessful hunt for trophies. 



The last night around the camp-fire Jake 

 made entertaining by relating to me some of 

 his personal experiences. The following 

 story was told me as absolutely true: The 

 guide had struck the trail of a mountain lion, 

 which he followed with his pack of dogs to 

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