TWENTY YEARS IN THE ROCKIES. 237 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



A SUCCESSFUL BEAR HUNT. 



Days and months were passing away, and the many 

 cares of life were crowding forward. The days seemed too 

 short to accomplish the work I had set out to do. Finally I 

 pulled up stakes and started north. When I had passed Wolf 

 Butte, I was in the mountains, and on one high summit I 

 stopped and took a careful survey of the surrounding coun- 

 try. As I gazed the old fever took me by storm. I ran my 

 eye over the break, and was seized with an overpowering 

 desire to penetrate its green foliage and once more feel the 

 freedom which I had longed for so ardently of late. At 

 length I resolved to lay over, and spend a few days in the 

 forest. We pulled out into a green valley where wood and 

 water were abundant and we soon had the horses cared for 

 and our camp outfit in order. 



My comrade's name was Broncho Bill at least he was 

 known by that name. When he had pitched the tent, he 

 shouldered his old Sharp's and we took the trail for the 

 haunts of big game. We had not gone far before I turned 

 to the northwest up a small stream lined with chokecherry 

 bushes, sagebrush and quaking asp. I had gone about two 

 miles and the perspiration was pouring from my forehead, 

 when I sat down on a large rock to rest. Soon I noticed 

 that a large stone had been turned over on the opposite bank, 

 and, on a close examination, I found unmistakable signs of 



