28 RUSTLINGS IN THE ROCKIES. 



On the morning of September 9th we moved early, and 

 about ten o'clock in the forenoon crossed the boundary-line 

 between Montana and Wyoming, which line is also the 

 southern boundary of the Crow reservation. We heaved a 

 unanimous sigh of relief when we got out of the jurisdiction 

 of those pestiferous redskins. Huffman killed a deer while 

 we halted for dinner, and so won the thanks of the outfit for 

 our first venison. It was on the opposite side of the river from 

 him when he killed it, and he was on foot, and some distance 

 from camp. I happened along just then with my pony, and 

 he asked me to go across and get it. He said I would have 

 enough to do to handle the deer, and had better leave my 

 gun with him. I obeyed his orders, and went after the deer 

 while he went to camp. I dressed the animal, swung it into 

 my saddle, and started to lead my pony up the river to get 

 an easier crossing. Just as I got up the bank a fine doe 

 jumped out of the grass, ran up onto a little ridge about forty 

 yards away, and stopped and looked at me for several 

 minutes. I didn't make any remarks then about a man that 

 was fool enough to take another man's gun away from him, 

 nor about a man that was fool enough to let another man 

 carry his gun to camp. Oh, no ! If I had pulled the wrong 

 trigger on that doe, and the buckshot had been in the other 

 barrel, my language would not have been more forcible nor 

 less elegant. 



We jumped a coyote that afternoon, and with four re- 

 peaters and one single shot we almost set the ground on fire 

 around him, but as he started at about two hundred yards 

 rise and ran away ahead of his ticket, we failed to make 

 a score on him. I put out some poison for them that night 

 and several nights following, but, although they howled 

 around our camp a great deal, they didn't take the bait. 



On the loth we ran into a large herd of cattle, and 



