American Big-Game Hunting 



water to drink. That was warm, with a sul- 

 phurous flavor, owing to the hot springs close 

 by the shore and under the water as well, 

 besides holding many wigglers. I strained 

 a bottleful of water through some linen and 

 hung it on the limb of a tree, waiting for it to 

 cool, and looking at it with the hungry eye 

 of a wolf watching meat hung out of reach. 



My Indian pony had a new experience the 

 following morning. After starting our pack- 

 train, we skirted the shores of Yellowstone 

 Lake, and coming to a quick-running stream, 

 which in its clearness looked very inviting, 

 the Indian pony succeeded in loosing her 

 trail-rope, and pushed her head nearly up to 

 her eyes into this clear water. Withdrawing 

 it quickly with a scream, she cut such capers 

 that for a while our pack-train was more or 

 less disarranged. The water had run only a 

 short distance from a boiling spring, and the 

 heat had taken off a good deal of the hair 

 from her face. For twenty-four hours I could 

 not induce her to drink. 



On the trail to the outlet of Yellowstone 

 Lake, I saw several bands of elk, and rode 

 within thirty yards of them. They did not 



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