The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
a leaf. No wonder, for the treatment, although 
successful, is brutally severe. 
I rode for some time a roan mare that had 
been broken in this way. She had been ridden 
by my English boy, Alfred, for a few days before 
I essayed to mount her, and had been running 
wild in the mountains a month previously. She 
was a wall-eyed, tricky beast at best, and would 
kick viciously if her heels were approached. I 
gave ten dollars for her, which was cheap enough, 
and I bought five very weedy and useless speci- 
mens, that had never even been handled, for 
five dollars each. These would follow my pack- 
horses at a few yards’ distance, but would not 
allow me to approach them. Horses of. this 
stamp were shot at various places in the moun- 
tains by my Indians as bait for grizzlies—about 
all they were fit for. 
The Indians in British Columbia are a poor 
lot. They are of the Siwash tribe, and their 
language varies in different localities, that of 
the trade being ‘‘ Chinook ”—a combination of 
Indian and English words jumbled up together. 
They live in rancherees, or small settlements, 
and their huts are extremely dirty and badly 
built. No whisky or spirits is allowed by law 
to be given or sold to any Indians, under any 
circumstances. Under its influence they go 
wild, and for this reason a heavy fine is inflicted 
on any one who thus supplies them. The squaws 
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