192 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



As he raised the glass to his mouth, his eye caught 

 sight of the water-bottle on the bar counter, with the 

 water- snake squirming inside. Solemnly lowering his 

 untasted glass, he gazed steadfastly at the jug. After 

 a pause : ' Boys, d' yer see anything in that jug ?' 

 Not a muscle in the watching faces stirred. Presently 

 a matter-of-fact voice replied : ' What's up, Timber- 

 line ? The water's all right, any way, I guess.' ' But 

 don't yer see the snake ?' persisted Jones. ' What 

 snake ?' replied the chorus. ' You're shaky this 

 morning, pard. That's only good spring water.' 

 Slowly replacing on the counter his untasted drink, 

 and muttering to himself, ' Great Caesar ! I've got 

 'em again !' Timberline Jones at once left the saloon, 

 evidently under the intended and sobering impression 

 that the snake was a phantom of his imagination. 



Next day our party started north from Fort Steele 

 for our happy hunting-grounds. The first stage was 

 to a small outlying ranch on the North Platte Kiver, 

 about sixty miles away. A four-horse waggon carried 

 our stores, baggage, and tents, convoyed by our party 

 on horseback my friend and myself, two guides, a 

 cook, and a ' horse wrangler ' with the spare horses 

 intended to be used as pack-animals. Some ten miles 

 from the start our waggon upset on a steep hillside 

 and turned completely over. Luckily, no damage was 

 done beyond a broken pole and one bottle of pickles 

 smashed, the soft bedding on the top saving the 

 cargo. 



The second day out we reached our ranch, the last 

 roof we were destined to see for some three months ; 

 and here two or three days were spent in selecting 

 pack-horses, fitting pack-saddles, and arranging the 

 packs. A considerable amount of care and fore- 



