206 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



failed to rub his pack against a tree, or, if possible, to 

 buck it off whenever a fair opportunity presented 

 itself. One day, in one of these recurrent fits of 

 temper, he succeeded in planting a hind-foot in the 

 centre of a bag of flour and scattering its contents 

 down the mountain -side. This incident put us there- 

 after on siege rations of bread, and made us think 

 of the day when a return to the ranch would be 

 necessary. 



On off-days our milder relaxation was trout-fish- 

 ing. The streams on the west side of the Divide all 

 held good trout, running up to 3 pounds in weight, 

 voracious and simple-minded to a degree. I once 

 stood below a glassy pool in a mountain stream on 

 the Main Divide, and for a quarter of an hour hooked 

 a trout, and sometimes two, at every throw. The 

 tackle was strong and the flies large. I had sixteen 

 speckled beauties on the grass, when the rise appar- 

 ently ceased. I climbed the bank over the pool, and 

 could see every stone in the bottom. Not a trout was 

 left. I had caught every fish the pool contained. 

 The streams in the Bighorn Mountains were usually 

 dammed by beaver and lined with thick brush, in 

 which bear- sign was plentiful. A rifle was often 

 part of the fisherman's kit. On one occasion, going 

 through the brush to a beaver-pool, the rush of a 

 heavy animal through the thick cover, and an ominous 

 'woof -woof,' betokened the presence of a grizzly, 

 and sent my heart into my mouth. The thickness 

 of the brush gave the rifle no fair chance. In this 

 case, fortunately, grizzly had an engagement else- 

 where. I am glad to say I never jumped a fighting 

 grizzly in thick cover. The little difficulty I subse- 

 \ quently relate occurred in comparatively open ground. 



