Two Days Together 35 



of a spray of sagebrush, be it by the wind or not, the quivering 

 of a tuft of grass, the stirring of a bird in a clump of aspens fifty 

 yards away, the passage of a pair of wild duck down the river just 

 outside the angle of direct vision, the hovering of an eagle high 

 overhead — a mere speck in the sky, a passing butterfly, the rising 

 of a stray trout to a fly two hundred yards away on the river, all 

 such small things bulk as large in consciousness as the passage of 

 a noisy motor van down a quiet residence street in the city, but 

 with a far pleasanter impression upon both mind and nerves. 



As I painted, there was a harsh scream close behind and above 

 me. A great squirrel hawk swept over my head and settled 

 on the limb of a tree within ten yards or so. With a fine disregard 

 of my presence he made his morning toilet, spreading his tail and 

 each beautifully barred wing in turn. Little unseen things scur- 

 ried through the sagebrush. Wrens, black-caps, finches, and 

 yellow-hammers haunted the aspens and willows near at hand. 

 A Colorado magpie or two passed. Late butterflies prospected 

 through the sagebrush, seeking for flowers that had departed, 

 in their number comprising mourning cloaks (the Vanessa Antiopa), 

 the orange-tipped brimstone, small painted ladies, and black and 

 yellow swallow-tails. Wasps also were noted. On the river were 

 little clubs of ducks, each after his own kind. An eagle passed 

 overhead, sailing down the wind with still wings, and the effort- 

 lessness of his flight was enough to make one cease work and gaze 

 after the diminishing speck till, on a slight shift of vision, it was 

 lost altogether. 



Back to camp for lunch, to find that the two papermakers 

 have been out during the morning on the river, and have brought 

 back four ten-inch Loch Leven trout, offspring of those planted, 

 by the government in the National Park twenty-two years since, 

 taken with a black-wing Trude fly. These they insist on the 

 artist's eating for lunch, since, as they aver, they had the fun of 

 catching them. I trust that my enjoyment of them gives them 

 the further pleasure they are entitled to. Jay, who waits on table, 

 regards me with a sympathizing smile, and as he passes the coffee 

 to me, says, "You certn'ly seem to like them trout, Jim." 



Again in the afternoon Bill and Art went abroad, this time 

 for duck, while up on the flat the artist carried forward work 

 in the afternoon light projected in the morning. In the late 



