170 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



might have formed a permanent source of wealth 

 to the western stock-grower, while they completely 

 harmonized with and were fitted for the natural 

 surroundings and the climate of the west. Their 

 disappearance has permanently detracted from its 

 wild natural life and its attractions. 



So we killed our first buffalo in 1877, and went 

 south again to Whisky Gap euphonious name in 

 the Ferris Range of the Sweetwater. But before 

 we left the Rattlesnake Mountains the first snap of 

 autumn weather caught us, I remember, in its grip. 

 We had killed our buffalo the brace of bulls afore- 

 mentioned in the open country north of the Rattle- 

 snake ; had been some time taking their heads and 

 hides and packing them on the led horses ; and were 

 perforce compelled to spend the night in a mountain 

 hollow, with such shelter and sustenance as our 

 blankets and a tin of corned beef could provide. 

 That night a storm of snow and sleet completed our 

 discomfiture, and a very sodden, chilled, and dilapi- 

 dated party returned to camp next day. 



At Whisky Gap, two days south, we met Sir John 

 Rae Reed and a friend, also on a hunting expedition, 

 and compared notes on our respective sporting ex- 

 periences. Sir John Reed has joined the majority, 

 but I can well recall to mind a pleasant night passed 

 in his camp. He gave us an introduction, I remem- 

 ber, to Sothern, the actor, then performing at New 

 York with his company in the play of c The Crushed 

 Tragedian.' Two months later we availed ourselves 

 of the introduction, when waiting in New York for 

 our steamer, and passed one of the most laughable 

 and amusing evenings I have ever enjoyed at supper 

 with the celebrated comedy actor. 



