Hunting at High Altitudes 



scramble on top as they passed under. One of our 

 friends from the other side now went ahead of the 

 horses, following the zigzag route selected, and 

 our relief was great when we had passed over the 

 deepest part of the stream at this crossing nearly 

 one hundred yards wide but greater still when 

 solid ground was reached, and congratulations 

 were offered and received. 



These men were of the old times then to be 

 found on the Northwestern Indian frontier. They 

 were the pioneers and forerunners of western civ- 

 ilization. Though improvident, they were brave, 

 big-hearted men, willing to divide the last crust of 

 bread or the last dollar with a fellow-man in dis- 

 tress. When we reached the stage station 61 the 

 bob-sled stage was expected, and not long after- 

 ward it hove in sight. As it drew up, I hobbled 

 to the window on a crutch, and saw a single pas- 

 senger, who also was leaning on a crutch. It 

 turned out that he was U. S. Marshal Botkin, of 

 Montana Territory, returning on official business 

 from Fort Keogh or Miles City. It seemed to me 

 that it took good nerve for a man on crutches to 

 attempt such a trip in winter. 



When we started for Bozeman, I found the 

 marshal an intelligent, agreeable man, who had 

 been a good deal about Washington, and was ac- 



152 



