MY OLD HUNTING-GROUNDS. 367 



days, that he might take his wounded to their home and make 

 some necessary arrangements with his tribe, promising that he 

 and his warriors would return at the end of that time and give 

 themselves up. Most of the officers present were opposed to 

 this, saying that if he were allowed to go he would not come 

 back; but the General granted his request at once, and the 

 Indians left, returning on the appointed day and surrendering 

 themselves as prisoners. It turned out at their trial that the 

 tribe had been more sinned against than sinning, and they were 

 only sent back to their Reservation. 



At Chicago I said good-bye to the General, as our respective 

 routes diverged here, and so ended one of the pleasantest trips 

 I ever made. 



I have now come to the end of what, I fear, is a rambling 

 account of my experiences in the Great North West, and 

 their only interest, if interest they have, is in their depicting 

 a kind of life which has now become a memory, and a very 

 dear one to those who have once enjoyed it. I have paid 

 several visits to my old hunting-grounds since 1878, and in 

 many cases did not recognize them, so much had ranches and 

 enclosures changed the face of the country. The whole of the 

 Judith Basin is now a mass of sheep-ranches, and with the 

 exception of a stray antelope or deer all big game has dis- 

 appeared, though on my last visit I saw, even in these matter- 

 of-fact days, something which reminded me of old times. Five 

 Sioux Indians had made a horse-stealing raid on the Bannock 

 camp and had run off some ponies ; they had been closely pur- 

 sued, and had taken refuge in a cattle corral, where they had 

 all been killed. This happened in July, and I saw the bodies 

 in November, and I thought it a most convincing proof of the 



