Hunting American Big Game 



elk. We closely scanned the neighboring 

 heights, but still no sign of bears. Finally 

 we turned off, and worked our way clear 

 up on top of the mountain, determined 

 to see the country anyway. Slowly we 

 climbed upward, skyward, dragging our 

 weary horses after us, until at noon we 

 were nearly up, and concluded to lunch at 

 the little rill of melted snow that came 

 from a big drift on the mountain side. 



To get to it, though, made necessary 

 crossing the drift, and Woody led the way, 

 with his favorite horse, old Rock, in tow ; 

 and here was where my laugh came in, to 

 see those two floundering through that 

 drift. At times all I could see of Rock 

 were the tips of his ears. The crust was 

 just strong enough to hold Woody up if he 

 went "easy;" but he could not go easy 

 with the horse plunging on top of him, 

 and they would both break through. 

 However, they had to go ahead in spite of 

 themselves ; and they were finally landed, 

 half drowned and smothered, on dry 

 ground. Of course, profiting by this ex- 

 perience, I circumnavigated this drift ; and 

 we sat down to our dry bread and bacon, 

 washed down by a long pull from the handy 

 snow-water. Ten minutes and a pipe 

 were all that we allowed ourselves before 



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