VI 



A DAY IN THE IDAHO ROCKIES 



LATE in the afternoon of an October day in 1900, after a 

 -* hard trip from the last log ranch-house in the Teton Basin, 

 Ed Harrington rode at the head of a pack-train down into the 

 deep canon of a creek which rose in the snows of the Tetons 

 and flowed westward through Idaho, to empty into the north 

 fork of the Snake. Behind him wandered five lightly loaded 

 pack-horses, kept in motion by the prospect of a long-delayed 

 drink at the stream below and a shower of rocks and sticks 

 from the sore and tired writer leading his horse in the wake of 

 the descending pack-train. As we zigzagged down the dusty 

 slope Ed pointed down to a wooded point where two branches 

 of the creek flowed from wide valleys and intersected, then 

 disappeared as a roaring torrent into a precipitous walled 

 cafion. This point was to be our camping-place — a picturesque 

 spot in a grove of spruces almost surrounded by rushing waters, 

 and hemmed in on all sides by high, pine-covered mountains. 



While the thirsty horses were drinking in midstream Ed, 

 who had already crossed, called my attention to the fact that 

 one of the packs, which happened to contain flour and other 

 perishable necessities, had slipped until it was almost beneath 

 the surprised horse. We immediately rode into the stream, 

 and, one on each side of it, with much splashing and shouting, 

 pushed the protesting animal to the far shore. We then cut 

 the cinch -rope before the horse had recovered sufflciently to 

 buck the contents of its pack over the surrounding landscape. 



2Q5 



