CHAPTER V 



jT was snowing bitterly as I rode out of Meeker 

 late in December, '94; but I cared little for that, 

 as it would give good tracking, and Wells had 

 written that the lions were thick, so I was anx- 

 ious to join him and hear the music of the hounds once 

 more. Besides, I had a new, quick lens and a new 8 by 1 o 

 camera, both of which I was in a hurry to try on the lions. 



Before I had ridden many miles the storm had passed by, 

 and when I rode up to Wells's camp on Dry Fork, a branch of 

 Pice-ance Creek, it was fine and looked good for the morrow. 

 Wells met me with a cheery welcome, and we were soon stow- 

 ing away a good camp supper which he had prepared. The 

 cabin in which he was living was about fifteen feet square, and 

 when he and Patterson, his partner, and Frank Wells, his 

 brother, and myself were bedded down on the floor, in company 

 with two or three guests, there was very little spare room. A 

 cook-stove occupied one corner, together with the table and 

 some boxes for seats and the necessary provisions. One win- 

 dow was missing, so some sheeting was tacked across it. Plenty 

 of fat pifion wood within two hundred yards, and a little creek 

 about forty yards away, insured fire and water, while the sur- 

 rounding hills literally swarmed with deer. Patterson, or 



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