126 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 



Between two and three hundred Indians were in the 

 camp and they secured from one to two thousand 

 pounds of fish each night. These were cut up and 

 placed on pole platforms, under which smudge fires 

 were kept going constantly by the women and chil- 

 dren. The combination of squaw, papoose, dog, fish, 

 and general Indian camp smell was something better 

 imagined than described, and little time was wasted 

 by the hunters in that vicinity. 



Ward's ranch was reached late that night, and it 

 was nine o'clock before the ducks were dressed and 

 cooked. They had a strong fishy taste, but all ad- 

 verse comment was cut off by the doctor's " They 

 are all the better for that." The judge, however, 

 rose to the occasion, saying : 



" Begorra, I like fish, and, begorra, I like ducks, but, 

 begorra, I do not like fish-duck." 



Leaving Ward's ranch at half -past seven next 

 morning, another hot and dusty day was experienced. 

 White Mountain, that landmark known to every 

 man who has travelled in the Cascade range, towered 

 on the right of the trail and stood out against the 

 smoky sky. It was an inspiring sight and aided in 

 whiling away many of the tedious minutes of the 

 day. The party had been told of the lake called Sweet- 

 water, and it was with a feeling of joy that the waters 

 of the place were seen, but how keen was the disap- 

 pointment when it was found that some facetious 

 prospector had given the name to the bitterest sheet 

 of water in the Northwest. They toiled on and just 

 at dark reached Loomis trading post, utterly fagged 

 out. 



