30 Hunting the Grisly 



crossed a low, rocky ridge, above timber line, 

 and saw at our feet a basin or round valley 

 of singular beauty. Its walls were formed by 

 steep mountains. At its upper end lay a small 

 lake, bordered on one side by a meadow of 

 emerald green. The lake's other side marked 

 the edge of the frowning pine forest which 

 filled the rest of the valley, and hung high 

 on the sides of the gorge which formed its 

 outlet. Beyond the lake the ground rose in 

 a pass evidently much frequented by game in 

 bygone days, their trails lying along it in thick 

 zigzags, each gradually fading out after a few 

 hundred yards, and then starting again in a 

 little different place, as game trails so often 

 seem to do. 



We bent our steps toward these trails, and 

 no sooner had we reached the first than the 

 old hunter bent over it with a sharp excla- 

 mation of wonder. There in the dust were 

 the unmistakable hoof-marks of a small band 

 of bison, apparently but a few hours old. They 

 were headed toward the lake. There had 

 been half a dozen animals in the party; one 

 a big bull, and two calves. 



We immediately turned and followed the 

 trail. It led down to the little lake, where 

 the beasts had spread and grazed on the ten- 



