In the Old Rockies 



sheep is alive to this day at least, that nobody 

 else ever got him. 



The scene of the other day's hunting was in the 

 upper Hell Roaring country, north of Yellow- 

 stone Park. I think the territory is now embraced 

 within the Park limits, but this was in 1883, as I 

 remember, and the Park limits then were different 

 from what they are now. This story antedates its 

 predecessor by several years. 



Keller and I had made an early start from camp 

 on horseback, intending to hunt on the high divide 

 which separates the Hell Roaring waters from 

 those of Bear Creek. Toward noon, as we were 

 riding up a shamefully steep trail, we heard a noise 

 in the brush on the opposite side of a little glade in 

 front of us, and suddenly two- great black backs 

 appeared, rushing directly toward us. "Bear" was 

 the thought which popped into the minds of both 

 of us as we swung out of our saddles, unconsciously 

 throwing our reins over the heads of the horses. 

 As we carried our rifles in those days in a sling 

 hung on the pommel of the saddles, they were in 

 our hands ready for action as we landed. At that 

 moment the head of a big mountain buffalo burst 

 through the underbrush into the open glade. I 

 have always been a quick shot, and almost as quick 



303 



