IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 87 



the low, descending sun threw its golden light, forming a 

 most fascinating picture, and one in strong contrast to the 

 bleak, snow-covered hills around us. Away to the north 

 stretched the valley of the Big Horn, and with the aid of a 

 powerful glass we could easily see the tents and buildings at 

 Fort Custer, nearly sixty miles away. 



To the south our vision followed the eastern base of the 

 range, across the headwaters of Tongue and Powder rivers to 

 Fort McKinney, and away toward the Union Pacific railroad. 



"What," said I, "will the officers at Fort. Custer think if 

 they see our camp-fire to-night? They will think it a party of 

 Crow Indians, will they not?" 



"No," said Huffman, " they know that no Crow is fool 

 enough to be caught in such a country as this over night. 

 They'll know it's some crazy white men, and don't you for- 

 get it. Ah, what a fool a man will make of himself for the 

 sake of a little fun. The idea of tramping over these dry, 

 hot plains, climbing these mountains, wading snow, eating 

 snow, sleeping in snow, and half freezing to death for the sake 

 of killing a few deer and bears. It's too high for me." 



" Well," I said, "the game is worth to me all it costs. If 

 we could stand in our front door and kill these animals in our 

 yard, we would think it no sport at all, but the harder you 

 have to work for your game the more you appreciate it when 

 you get it. And if we found no game, the novelty of our 

 mode of travel, the grand scenery, the health-giving exercise, 

 the invigorating atmosphere would well repay me for all the 

 labor and hardships we endure." 



" These scenes in glowing colors dressed, 

 Mirror the life within my breast, 



Its world of hopes ; 



The whispering woods and fragrant breeze, 

 That stir the grass in verdant seas, 



On billowy slopes, 



