Se 
es 
7 
ACOMMMTZM SY ZTE > 
Se 
WOE 
'T was about midnight 
in the end of August 
when Nimrod and I 
tumbled off the train 
at Market Lake, Idaho. 
me} Next morning, after a 
Lea acaee ene s rest at hee “ hotel,” 
our rubber beds, sleeping bags, saddles, 
guns, clothing, and ourselves were 
packed into a covered wagon, drawn 
by four horses, and we started for 
Jackson’s Hole in charge of a driver 
who knew the road perfectly. At least, 
that was what he said, so of course he 
