OF SHOOTING AND FISHING 99 
galloped ahead, and soon came to a sheep camp by 
the wayside, the owner of which was away from 
home, but on a stump in front of the dilapidated 
tent sat a visitor, enjoying a quiet tin of coffee. He 
was dressed in the simple negligee of off-the-beaten- 
track Idaho, and his appearance betrayed that total 
indifference to convention, soap and barbers, one 
so often notices among the inhabitants of the 
sparsely settled portion of a new country. Rein- 
ing my steed, I asked how far it was to Warren. 
He told me about the distance. ‘‘Have you ever 
been in Chamberlain Basin?’’ was my next ques- 
tion. ‘‘I have just come from there,”’ he said. 
~ Oh, joy! at last a man was found who knew the 
country; now for some substantial information. 
‘Did you see any game there?’’ ‘‘Game! the place 
is alive with game.”’ (As this was in keeping with 
everything we had heard, it naturally excited no 
surprise.) ‘‘Are there any sheep or goats?’’ 
‘*Well, there are on the rocks,’’ he answered, ‘‘but 
I never saw anything like it in my life, they are so 
thick.’? I told him we were going in on a shooting 
trip, and that it was encouraging to know this. 
‘Pid you see any moose?’’ I asked again. ‘‘More 
of them than of anything else,’’ he replied, ‘‘and 
you must bring out a young one; it would be inter- 
esting for your friends to have. Of course there is 
a law in Idaho against taking game out, but I can 
show you how to crate it in such a way that no one 
will know it from an ordinary calf.”’ 
I thanked him, but said that we did not want a 
calf; however, he rather insisted and just then H. 
