ANOTHER TREK HIPPO-ANTS 



for air. I crawled among the reeds, twelve feet high, on 

 the bank, as close to the stream as prudence would allow, 

 located the sound, and parted the reeds sufficiently to 

 afford a fair view of the water. The breathing con- 

 tinued at intervals, sometimes one long breath and 

 sometimes two or three shorter ones, but neither with 

 naked eye nor with field-glass could I detect sufficient 

 hippo to afford any kind of a mark; so I waited, waited 

 four hours, from one until five o'clock, lying in the 

 reeds, my gun-bearer, stolid as the sign of a cigar-store, 

 sitting a few feet distant. In the^wind-wavpn re^Hsjimj 

 the music of the rushing waters the panorama of my past 

 sporting life passed in review before me. I recalled an 

 experience camping on Mt. Carbon in Colorado at tim- 

 ber-line, above insect and small animal and bird life, 

 above the noise, the very considerable noise, that small 

 living creatures contribute to daily life, to which custom 

 dulls our ears, and which, therefore, we fail to notice. 

 It is so still above timber-line that silence is said to be 

 audible. My camp was half a mile from the Ute Indian 

 Reservation, and the Utes were to be moved October ist 

 to another reservation in Utah. Rumors were rife that 

 they would refuse to move peacefully and would go on 

 the war-path; United States soldiers were placed at 

 strategic points, as a precaution, and a good deal of 

 uneasiness prevailed among the settlers; this was in 

 1881. 



Alone in camp in all this stillness I sat comfortably 

 bolstered up against the woodpile, reading. My eyes 

 glancing up from my book, I beheld thirteen Indians 

 seated in a circle around the cooking-fire with knees 

 drawn up, arms on knees, and looking at the ground. 



