i8o The Wilderness Hunter. 



often renders it impossible even to sit upright. We had a 

 very good camp-kit, including plenty of cooking- and eat- 

 ing-utensils ; and among our provisions were some canned 

 goods and sweetmeats, to give a relish to our meals of meat 

 and bread. We had fur coats and warm clothes, which 

 are chiefly needed at night, and plenty of bedding, includ- 

 ing water-proof canvas sheeting and a couple of caribou- 

 hide sleeping-bags, procured from the survivors of a party 

 of arctic explorers. Except on rainy days I used my buck- 

 skin hunting-shirt or tunic ; in dry weather I deem it, 

 because of its color, texture, and durability, the best 

 possible garb for the still-hunter, especially in the woods. 



Starting a day's journey south of Heart Lake, we 

 travelled and hunted on the eastern edge of the great basin, 

 wooded and mountainous, wherein rise the head-waters of 

 the mighty Snake River. There was not so much as a 

 spotted line that series of blazes made with the axe, man's 

 first highway through the hoary forest, but this we did 

 not mind, as for most of the distance we followed well-worn 

 elk-trails. The train travelled in Indian file. At the head, 

 to pick the path, rode tall, silent old Woody, a true type 

 of the fast-vanishing race of game hunters and Indian 

 fighters, a man who had been one of the California forty- 

 niners, and who ever since had lived the restless, reckless 

 life of the wilderness. Then came Ferguson and myself ; 

 then the pack-animals, strung out in line ; while from the 

 rear rose the varied oaths of our three companions, whose 

 miserable duty it was to urge forward the beasts of burden. 



It is heart-breaking work to drive a pack-train through 

 thick timber and over mountains, where there is either a 



