262 



RAMBLES AFTER SPORT. 



A few dog-eared books were kept carefully pressed under 

 a. block of wood, while over an old faded gilt-edged 

 looking-glass were balf-a-dozen photos of an ancient date 

 and style. I found my host was one of those extraordinary 

 men who are only to be found in the western and border 

 states. He told me that he was an Englishman, but 

 he did not tell me his name, and I didn't ask him. He 

 had a few cattle and pigs, and grew a few patches of 

 buckwheat and rye ; his rifle furnished him with all the 

 rest. He frequently passed eight or nine months without 

 talking to a living soul except an occasional Indian with 

 whom he was on friendly terms; once a year he went 

 down to Astoria or Portland, and exchanged his elk and 

 deer skins for coffee, sugar, molasses, and tobacco. He 

 never touched spirits, and his appearance bore out his 

 assertion ; he talked freely on most subjects, except his 

 own life, which I suspect would have been highly in- 

 teresting. I slept there that night, and next day we 

 all went deer hunting for the skins. We killed nine 

 in all, and it took us all the evening till ten o'clock 

 to skin them; we gave all our skins to the hunter. I 

 had now only five days to spare, or else I ran the risk of 

 missing the San Francisco steamer. There were evi- 

 dently no elk close by, so I and the hunter started next 

 afternoon for a valley higher up in the range, near the 

 snow-line, where we knew the elk must be, leaving the 

 man and boy to shoot deer and take care of the hut till 

 we came back. My companion made the journey pleasant 

 by his recital of Indian and hunting tales, and in the 

 midst of one of his stories about elk, said, ^' perhaps you 

 might get a sight of the white elk of Astoria; some 

 Injuns told me they had seen the ^ great medicine ' up 

 here last year.'' " What is this white elk ? " " Well, 



