32 CAMP FIRES IN THE YUKON 



date ranch, with its windmill to pump water into 

 the cabin; it is immaculately clean and his native 

 wife is an excellent cook. 



While the rest of us put up the tents and made 

 camp for the night, Wolcott and Bettle went down 

 to the river and killed fish for supper. Just across 

 the river are some high mountains that look as if 

 they ought to be fine sheep ranges, but Dixon says 

 they have been killed off long ago by the Indians, 

 who have also killed off the caribou in this part of 

 the country, and that in order to get hunting we have 

 to travel far beyond the Indians' range of activities. 



We have now been on the road three days, and 

 sixty-five miles to the westward looms the snow cur- 

 tains of the St. Ellas range, and when we reach the 

 foot of those first mountains we are not halfway to 

 our hunting grounds which are north and west in 

 the maze of mountains. One is almost inclined to 

 sing an ancient song: "We don't know where 

 we're going, but we're on the way," but since the 

 horses are standing up well and every one is cheer- 

 ful, it looks as if we were sometime destined to 

 reach the promised land. 



Six o'clock was our starting hour this morning of 

 August 9, the horses evidently being too tired to 

 run away during the night. There were a few bad 

 sand-hills early in the day, but after a couple of 

 hours we found ourselves in the broad valley, six 

 miles wide, through which winds the ribbon of the 



