That first night as we sat around the 

 camp fire there came out of the black- 

 ness behind us a faint greeting 

 Wheres Who Wheres Who from a 

 denizen of this mountain park, the 

 great horned owl. The next morning 

 we packed biscuits into our saddle-bags 

 and separated for the day into two par- 

 ties, Nimrod and the Horse wrangler, 

 the Host and myself, leaving the 

 Cook to take care of camp. We were 

 hunting for elk, mountain lion, or 

 bear. Nimrod had his camera, as well 

 as his gun, a combination which the 

 Horsewrangler eyed with scant toler- 

 ance. 



The Host led me down the Wiggin's 

 Fork for two miles, when we came out 

 upon a sandy, pebbly stretch which 

 in spring the torrents entirely covered, 

 but now had been dried up for 



