160 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



ing curiosities. Our men looked upon them in a 

 somewhat different light. The Ouster massacre, in 

 which a large force of Uncle Sam's ' boys in blue ' 

 had been surprised and exterminated by an Indian 

 force in Western Wyoming, a single survivor alone 

 returning to tell the tale, was then recent history ; 

 and one evening I surprised our chef Bill in a burst 

 of improvised profanity over some of these interesting 

 relics. 



I have occasionally wondered why an Indian 

 success was usually described in those days as a 

 ' massacre,' while a win by the United States troops 

 was always c a glorious victory.' It is true that the 

 Red Indian tribes gave no quarter. This was their 

 custom in war. ' Prisoners of war ' had no meaning 

 for them. Death on the field of battle or subsequent 

 torture was the penalty of defeat and capture at 

 their hands. But, after all, the white man was the 

 aggressor. He was in the process of taking this fair 

 new continent by force from its original and rightful 

 owners ; and he could not logically complain if the 

 red man fought, more suo, in defence of his own. 

 But more of these Indians anon. On this particular 

 trip we were not troubled in any way by the rightful 

 owners of the soil, and of the game thereon, though a 

 few years before that date our lives would, in this 

 locality, have in all probability possessed a very small 

 insurable value. 



We camped for a fortnight at the foot of the 

 Medicine Bow range, and led an ideal hunter's life. 

 Game was plentiful and easily found. Antelope were 

 always in sight on the open ground north of the 

 range. In the wooded mountains south of us elk ran 

 in their thousands. I often used to see a herd strung 



