AFTER BIG-GAME IN WYOMING 197 



It was while crossing the forty-mile desert I have 

 mentioned, south of the Bighorn Mountains, that 

 we tried our first buffalo steak. We had heard and 

 read of the gastronomic delights of buffalo hump, 

 but the reality was a dismal failure. The only game 

 in the desert were buffalo and a few antelope. Having 

 rim out of fresh venison, it so happened that, wanting 

 an antelope very badly, we failed to get one, and 

 were fain to kill an old buffalo for the larder.' His 

 tenderloin cruelly sarcastic word was duly boiled 

 first, and then hashed and fried afterwards. A single 

 plateful more than sufficed to satisfy six hungry men, 

 not over fastidious after some weeks of camp-life. 

 The same culinary operations performed on an old 

 boot would have produced an equally enticing dish. 



We were now approaching the home of the grizzly 

 and the big-horn sheep. Next day we travelled on 

 and upwards along the spur and well into the heart 

 of a rough and thickly- wooded country, and pitched 

 our first regular camp in a beautiful grove of firs by 

 the side of a mountain stream. 



During that day's travel we came across the only 

 man, outside of our own party, that we were destined 

 to see for some two months. Jack and I had ridden 

 ahead to look for a black-tail buck an animal which 

 supplies the most delicious venison of the Rockies. 

 Coming suddenly to the edge of a small gully, there 

 below us was a prospector's camp, whose owner was 

 washing some gravel by a stream. We rode close 

 to him unobserved, and his startled look as he turned 

 and saw two men, armed with rifles, close behind him 

 I shall not easily forget. His mind was soon relieved, 

 but he subsequently confessed his fear of Indians, 

 and that for a moment his scalp felt loose. 



