CHAPTER X. 



THROUGH THE CANYON OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN. 



AN ADVENTURE WITH NIG THE PHOTOGRAPHIC OUTFIT IN PERIL 

 HUFFMAN FRANTIC NIG LANDS THE CARGO SAFELY HUFFMAN 

 GRUMBLES, I PHILOSOPHIZE A HERD OF MULE DEER GROWTHS 

 OF PINE TIMBER FINE SPORT WITH A MOUNTAIN BUFFALO THE 



IDEAL HUNTER'S CAMP. 



IN our windings through the canyon of the Little Big 

 Horn, we were obliged to cross the stream several times 

 during the afternoon. It is a veritable torrent here, boiling 

 and foaming over its rough bed of boulders and broken 

 ledges of red sandstones. Its pure liquid is as clear as crystal 

 and as cold as ice. You would never recognize it as the 

 same dull, leaden-hued stream along whose banks we have 

 been wending our weary way for several days past. 



And this recalls to my mind an incident of the trip that 

 must not be overlooked. Soon after leaving the forks of the 

 stream, we reached a point where it became necessary to cross 

 it in order to avoid a long detour around a bend. We there- 

 fore selected the most favorable point we could find a place 

 where the banks were low and the water not more than two 

 feet deep and started in with Huffman in the lead. I 

 followed him with Blinkie, my white pony, and the pack 

 mules followed me, Jack remaining for the time in the rear 

 to drive them across. Chicken, one of the pack mules, 

 crossed and climbed the bank all right, when Nig, a large 

 black mule, who was always disposed to be willful and con- 

 trary, and who was never willing to follow his file leader 

 when he saw an opportunity of making an annoying 



