Big Game in the Rockies 



ing poison-weed, I determined to go back 

 and camp, and see if another skin could not 

 be added to the score. It did not take long 

 to pick out an ideal camping-spot, well shel- 

 tered, with plenty of dry wood, and trout 

 from the little stream almost jumping into 

 the frying-pan. 



Our horses had been having pretty rough 

 times lately, and they lost no time in storing 

 away as much of the rich grass as they could 

 hold. They had plenty of society, too, for 

 the slope was dotted here and there with 

 bunches of range cattle and bands of horses, 

 not to mention the recent additions to the 

 families of each in the shape of frolicsome 

 calves and frisky foals, all busily at work. 

 Bruin seemed rather out of place in such a 

 pastoral scene, and yet, as one looked higher 

 beyond the somber heights of the forest 

 toward the frowning crown rock that re- 

 sembled some mighty fortress forbidding fur- 

 ther progress, or the everlasting snow-peaks 

 above, one could well fancy that wild animals 

 must be up there somewhere, either in the 

 dense woods or in the still higher and safer 



retreats. 



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