96 Rod, Gun, and Palette in the High Rockies 



the white silence of the forested, heights. It was not threatening, 

 not fearful; rather it conveyed a sense of utter impassivity, the 

 self -con tainedness of the wilds. 



None of the great upland plateaus nor notable descents of 

 the trip in were encountered and the artist quickly recognized 

 that the party was going out by a new trail, and presently began 

 to pick up a succession of blazes on the tree trunks; and to enter- 

 tain himself by the endeavor to pick the trail as far ahead as 

 possible by blazes alone. Though it is to be noted with em- 

 phasis, that picking up blazes, comfortably saddled on the back 

 of a smart and quiet Indian pony treading with assurance in 

 the trail made by a preceding train is a vastly different business 

 from that of identifying blazes on a trail traveled de novo. Elk 

 tracks were frequent, crossing the trail repeatedly. Weazel and 

 marten trails also were noted, twisting and winding on them- 

 selves in characteristic fashion. 



Two hours out from Camp Tepee, a party of three was en- 

 countered, equipped for elk hunting, but really on the more 

 serious business of searching for the father of the man encoun- 

 tered fishing above the Madison river camp some days pre- 

 viously, who had gone after elk, and had been lost since Sunday. 

 As detailed by William later in the evening, though better things 

 were strenuously hoped for, the chances were, that overcome 

 by terror of being lost, the unfortunate had lost his head, and, 

 instead of building a fire, and waiting to be found, had, with 

 the deadly fear that sometimes overmasters those lost in the 

 woods, kept on traveling, searching for shelter, and by that 

 rendering much more difficult the task of those searching 

 for him. 



Some hour and a half before sunset, debouching upon the 

 easier slopes, the windings of the north fork of the Madison 

 were recognized amid the snow-covered plain. The surrounding 

 hills, Twotop notably, and later. Coffin Mountain, had been 

 hailed sometime previously. And along a bit of road, across 

 a rise; and with some skirmishing by Jay and Fred to round 

 up rebellious pack animals at a fence corner, the party came 

 to the Oliver Johnson ranch. In the dooryard was an elk calf, 

 curious, standoffish in manner, and with a thick pelt that spoke 

 eloquently of the youngster's provision for the winter. 



