Hunting A merican Big Gatne 



brown and dry, can form no adequate 

 idea of the change that presents itself in 

 the spring. Especially is one surprised 

 when, standing on the top of some moun- 

 tain height surrounded by everlasting snow, 

 he looks down over the valleys, and sees the 

 richness and vividness of the green-grow- 

 ing grasses which seem to roll up almost 

 to his feet. As we stood there, we had a 

 glorious panorama. The vast gathering 

 storm was at our backs ; and the sun, 

 though not shining for us, was lighting up 

 the broad valley below. Greybull River 

 stretched away until it joined the Big 

 Horn beyond. The whole range of the. 

 Big Horn Mountains was visible, their 

 snow-tops glistening like a bank of silver 

 clouds; and the main range we were stand- 

 ing on was brought out in all its dazzling 

 grandeur. Snowdrift upon snowdrift, 

 with gracefully curling crests, stretched 

 away as far as the eye could reach, for miles 

 and miles. Still we saw no bear ; and 

 while we were enjoying all this wonder- 

 ful scenery we neglected the storm, and 

 were soon enveloped in a raging tempest 

 of wind and snow, with a demoniacal ac- 

 companiment of lightning and crashing 

 thunder. 



We hunched up our backs, and stumbled 

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