Hunting American Big Game 



Northern Pacific Railway, the nearest town 

 to my ranch, and the Mecca to which the 

 devout cattleman drives his wagon for sup- 

 plies, I will introduce you to the foot-hills 

 and mountains, and some of the adven- 

 tures therein. 



After four days on a sleeping-car, it is 

 a delightful release to tumble out on 

 a frosty September morning, and being 

 guided to where the ranch wagon and 

 crew are bivouacked just outside the lim- 

 its of the rapidly growing town, to get 

 one's breakfast on terra-firma. No time 

 is now to be wasted. The mules are 

 hitched up ; the little band of horses are 

 rounded together ; and when we have 

 jumped into our saddles, the cook, who 

 always handles the reins, gives a crack of 

 his whip, and we take our departure from 

 civilization. A couple of miles take us 

 to a primitive wire-rope ferry, where we 

 cross the Yellowstone River, which at this 

 season of the year is low and clear ; in a 

 few minutes we are over, and, ascending 

 the bluffs on the other side, take our last 

 look at the beautiful valley we are leaving 

 behind. 



By night we reach Pryor Creek, where 

 picking out as good a camping-place as 

 possible, the mules are soon unhitched, 



