ON A CATTLE-RANGE 291 



Company, which he, Chico, was considerably qualified 

 if he was not going to stop. Frank usually left all 

 the details of running a round-up to the foreman, and 

 in this case he was remaining behind at the ranch 

 for a few days to attend to some business details, so 

 that it was agreed to give Chico a free hand. 



The next day our hunting-party crossed the North 

 Platte River, and two days after we were camped in 

 a mountain valley, intent on a month's shooting and 

 camp-life. The round-up party were to start on the 

 day following. 



The Medicine Bow Range is now, to all intents 

 and purposes, hunted out, but in those days it was 

 different. Sheep-ranching was in its infancy, and 

 game had not yet been driven out or exterminated in 

 this district of the Rockies. I had seen some fresh 

 elk (wapiti) tracks as we got into our permanent 

 camp that night, and as we sat round the camp-fire 

 after supper, smoking the anticipatory and contem- 

 plative pipe, I well remember looking forward to the 

 morrow with the keen delight only known in its 

 fulness to the hunter who has just reached the happy 

 hunting-grounds. Coming events, we are told, cast 

 their shadows before ; but not an inkling of the 

 tragedy that had then occurred, as it happened, on 

 Sand Creek, thirty miles or so away, crossed our 

 minds ; not a single foreboding of the news that 

 was to reach us within twenty-four hours, and 

 change all our plans, deepened the shadows of the 

 night. 



September had just begun. Elk and deer were in 

 grand condition, and fairly plentiful in the neighbour- 

 hood. We had a bear-trap in the waggon. The 

 climate and weather were perfect. There was nothing 



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