With Gun P Rod in Canada 



not worth a darn for service on " Hole-in- the- Wallers " 

 who had slipped over into Wyoming. It was a com- 

 bination of Merry-go-round and Fox-and-geese, with 

 the officers always in the wrong place, and the outlaws 

 leading a gipsy but rather safe existence. 



Of course, when United States deputy-marshals got 

 on the job, it was another story. The birds of ill omen 

 then flew to their various " roosts " and " hide-outs " 

 in the mountains. 



Occasionally an exasperated county officer would send 

 a vicious rifle bullet over the line, providing his quarry 

 had been too impudent for human nature to stand, but 

 not often. 



After describing such a country it may be a little hard 

 to explain just why I was in that neck of the woods. 

 Mining is the answer. I was, at the time of which I 

 write, the boss of a small thirty-ton water-jack copper 

 smelter. I used to hunt Sundays and any other time 

 that I had an opportunity. It was a great country for 

 black-tailed deer, cougars, and bears. 



I had shot a great many deer, but not having any 

 dogs or traps, had been unable to get within rifle-shot 

 of either a grizzly or lion. 



Early one Sunday morning I sallied forth with a 

 38-55 Marlin rifle, the usual six-gun, calibre forty-five, 

 hunting-knife, and plenty of grub for all day. There 

 was a nice crust on the snow up in the mountains, and 

 just before noon, as I toiled slowly up a long draw which 

 shallowed as it approached the ridge, I succeeded in 

 starting and killing a fine fat doe. After dressing this 

 animal I built a fire and had some lunch. While toasting 

 my feet and munching my lunch, my eye wandered 

 aimlessly along the top edge of one side of the canyon, 

 and espied a cougar loping along against the skyline. 

 I could not tell whether it had seen me or not. What 



