THE LAST HUNT. 299 



pair of five-year-old bulls bitched to a cart and drove 

 through the streets." 



"Yes," said Dyche, "they are easily broken to 

 harness and seem to take kindly to it, but when they 

 take a notion to run away there is sure to be a gen- 

 eral smash-up." 



The first camp on the return to Denver was made 

 at Trapper's Lake, and while hunting near the 

 water Dyche saw hundreds of trout disporting 

 themselves. He threw stones at them until his 

 arm was tired, and then went to camp with his 

 story and was laughed at for his pains. The 

 judge looked at the professor quizzically, and the 

 doctor said he had been pretty good at fish-stories 

 himself in his day. Dyche took the chaffing and also 

 the judge's fishing-rod and returned to the lake, the 

 doctor following out of curiosity. The water was 

 fairly alive with the speckled mountain trout, and 

 the lines could hardly be thrown in fast enough to 

 satisfy the fish. At the end of an hour of this sport 

 they returned to camp with seventy fine fish in a sack. 

 They weighed just fifty pounds, and the judge, who 

 was admittedly the best fisherman in the State, said 

 it was the finest catch he had ever seen. 



The month had been most pleasantly spent by the 

 whole party, and the camp-fires of a naturalist were 

 things of the past. At Denver the naturalist parted 

 from his friends, promising that at some future day 

 they would meet and take another and longer hunt 

 in the mountains. 



