ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND WESTERN CATTLE LAND. 131 



Low the dauntless earl is laid, 



Gored with, many a gaping wound. 



Fate demands a nobler head, 



Soon a king shall bite the ground. 



Next day I went alone as usual, on a broncho 

 named Button to the Medicine Bow Range, the 

 thickest timber within reach of camp, and which 

 would have been thought the likeliest spot for elk, 

 had it not been that * the boys ' had brought word 

 that they had found a camp of the ubiquitous hide- 

 hunters. After a twelve mile gallop, or 'lope,' over 

 an endless plain, a wooded valley was entered and 

 the higher ground soon reached. Here were clus- 

 ters of great pines, and delicious grass slopes, which 

 gave a park-like appearance as though some land- 

 scape-gardening had been accomplished on a vast 

 scale with detached rocks and clumps of under- 

 growth, while across the open spaces came distant 

 views of the North Platte River and various nameless 

 ranges that lie south of the Sweetwater. There were 

 plenty of tracks of deer and of either cattle or elk, for 

 it is difficult at times to distinguish one from the 

 other, and for many hours I peered, with rifle always 

 ready, among the forest trees, sometimes leading But- 

 ton, and at other times riding. About midday, on 

 mounting to the brow of a ridge, I came in full view 

 of a steep wooded slope on the opposite side of the 

 valley. Along the top of the ridge ran a long, but- 

 tressed limestone cliff, along the base of which grew 

 the tallest of pines. 



K 2 



