Hunting American Big Game 



with its wheels double-locked, is soon 

 groaning and creaking down the descent 

 which leads to the merrily rushing Mee- 

 teetse, following down which to its junc- 

 tion with Greybull, we are soon inside our 

 own fence, and are joyously welcomed by 

 the dogs. Here, too, I rind my trusty 

 friend and companion of all my hunting 

 trips, Tazwell Woody, a grizzled veteran 

 of the mountains, who once long ago 

 claimed Missouri as his home. From the 

 ranch to the mountains is a comparatively 

 short trip, for one day's travel to the west- 

 ward would place you well up on their 

 slopes. 



Let me say of this portion of the range, 

 that it is the most rugged, broken, and pre- 

 cipitous of its whole extent; and the charm 

 of overcoming its apparent inaccessibility 

 can only be appreciated by one who has 

 toiled and sweated in surmounting the dif- 

 ficulties of mountain travel from a pure love 

 of nature in its wildest and grandest form. 



Experience having taught me long ago 

 that it was well-nigh impossible to get 

 good specimens of all the different varieties 

 of big game on any one trip, I made up 

 my mind to devote a certain amount of 

 time each year to one variety. By this 



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