FAREWELL TO THE MOUNTAINS 



Monday the twelfth. 



Probably the most impressive thing the early morning 

 stroller may see from Ash ton is the Fingers, the three great up- 

 standing peaks of the Teton range, that before breakfast, in 

 October one may see dark against the sunrise. They rise from 

 the plain with a dominant abruptness. One feels their height, 

 and by the darkness of the soaring points above the snowfields 

 of the lower slopes, the sheer precipitousness of their sides. The 





The "Fingers" from Ashton 



highest point, presenting on one side a dead vertical line, and 

 on the other an abrupt descent, dominates its fellows and the 

 plain about with a stern majesty that holds long in memory. 



Waiting for the train, a man from Pocatello who had been 

 observed to get on at Yellowstone with a creel, apparently weighty, 

 mentioned to the artist having taken Loch Leven trout of four 

 and one-half pounds, and rainbow trout of six pounds on the 

 main stream of the Madison. Then, perceiving the artist's 

 occupation, came the inevitable question. Almost invariably 

 people speaking to an artist during the first few minutes after 

 meeting him as such, ask him if he knows such and such another 

 one, probably in their home town, very celebrated for painting 

 sheep, flowers, or dead poultry, or they tell him of a maiden 

 aunt who is inexpressibly clever at watercolor. 



From Ashton to Pocatello was observed a pleasant farming 

 country, lying in mountain-bounded, level-floored valleys. For 



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