OF SHOOTING AND FISHING 115 
ing him to have just one more ‘‘hand’’ with the 
Indian, himself, dealing. He even had the audac- 
ity to follow us for miles, talking things over. At 
last our man, turning in his saddle, called him 
dreadful names; in fact, one could not think of 
anything he did not call him. The poor red man 
just said, ‘‘You are the same,” and turning on his 
heel, walked away with that great dignity peculiar 
to his race. 
In the springtime there is high water in the Sea- 
sash, caused by melting snow. This renders the 
ordinary road impassable, so the mail is carried in 
over what is called the high water trail. This path 
follows the high places, thus avoiding the water. 
I tried it for a little way as it cut off about a mile, 
but afterwards was perfectly satisfied to travel the 
roundabout country road. 
By one o’clock we had reached a hotel, so we de- 
cided to lunch. The place was built of logs, and on 
entering, the visitor found himself in a large room 
having a bar on one side and some round tables 
covered with green baize on the other. A hand- 
some portrait of Martha Washington and two early 
pictures of Eve decorated the wall on one side, 
while a photograph of the proprietor and his wife 
seated upon a plush couch with two bull pups, and 
‘‘God Bless Our Home’’ above it, adorned the other, 
and imparted a softening effect to the whole. Op- 
posite the door of entrance was another leading to 
the dining-room, which was shut off from the sleep- 
ing accommodations on one side, and the kitchen 
on the other, by curtains. A back door led from 
