THE FIRST CAMP 



Tuesday the fifteenth. 



At daylight this morning, through a driving sleet storm from 

 the west, a low-lying stream, whose deep channel paralleled the 

 railway tracks, was made out through drifting mist. Its banks on 

 the farther side rose into raggedly timbered heights that lost 

 themselves in low hanging clouds. This was the headwater of 

 the south fork of the Madison river. It was a good, steady, 

 persistent sort of storm; there was no question about that. But 

 the travel of a train has a noticeably mitigating effect on even 

 the most determined looking foul weather. There is such a thing 

 as removing beyond the sphere of influence. By the time Yel- 

 lowstone was reached, there was a sensible moderation, though 

 back up the tracks it could be seen raging over the hill tops in 

 as pretty a mess of flying wrack as ever descriptive writer laid 

 himself out to picture. 



In occasional flurries of sleet, and a lightening of the southern 

 sky, a half promise of a break in the weather which might or might 

 not be realized, we debarked. Breakfast was had at the depot. 

 At the tables in the dining room were gathered the obvious after- 

 guard of the summer's sightseers, a scattered and reminiscent 

 remnant of the seasonal army that passes in and out of the national 

 park. After breakfast, waiting for conveyances, a pair of pointers 

 caught the artist's eye. Desiring their further acquaintance, he 

 unthinkingly whistled to them, but was in kindness checked 

 by William. 



"Jimmy, that 's a bad break. You mustn't ever do that again. 

 To call another man's dog, unless you 're in charge of him, is one 

 of the seven deadly sins of the sportsman's code." 



From Yellowstone by concord and wagon the further way lay 

 through sagebrush levels of lodgepole pine, skirting and crossing 

 the main stream of the Madison to our camping ground, in a bend 

 of the Madison river, at an altitude of 6,500 feet, in heavily 

 timbered country, eight miles from Yellowstone and five from 

 Grayling postoffice, Montana. In the continuing storm we found 

 tents pitched and all things made ready. We were welcomed to 



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