250 The Wilderness Hunter. 



his rifle it would have been impossible to stop his firing at 

 such game as bison, nor would he have spared the cows 

 and calves. 



About the middle of the afternoon we crossed a low, 

 rocky ridge, above timber line, and saw at our feet a basin 

 or round valley of singular beauty. Its walls were formed 

 by steep mountains. At its upper end lay a small lake, 

 bordered on one side by a meadow of emerald green. 

 The lake's other side marked the edge of the frowning 

 pine forest which filled the rest of the valley, and hung 

 high on the sides of the gorge which formed its outlet. 

 Beyond the lake the ground rose in a pass evidently much 

 frequented by game in bygone days, their trails lying 

 along it in thick zigzags, each gradually fading out after 

 a few hundred yards, and then starting again in a little 

 different place, as game trails so often seem to do. 



We bent our steps towards these trails, and no sooner 

 had we reached the first than the old hunter bent over it 

 with a sharp exclamation of wonder. There in the dust 

 were the unmistakable hoof-marks of a small band of 

 bison, apparently but a few hours old. They were headed 

 towards the lake. There had been a half a dozen ani- 

 mals in the party ; one a big bull, and two calves. 



We immediately turned and followed the trail. I tied 

 down to the little lake, where the beasts had spread 

 and grazed on the tender, green blades, and had drunk 

 their fill. The footprints then came together again, 

 showing where the animals had gathered and walked off 

 in single file to the forest. Evidently they had come to 

 the pool in the early morning, walking over the game 



