THE DUSKY GROUSE. 131 
known beyond the Rocky Mountains, south of the sixty- 
fifth parallel. It is also replete with majestic scenery— 
its snow-clad peaks, magnificent lakes, stupendous falls, 
and mighty rivers comparing favorably with those of 
Switzerland—while few regions can compete with it in 
the density and extent of its sub-alpine forests, or in its 
strange volcanic scenes, which are as unique as they are 
awe-inspiring. During. one of my rambles through 
Idaho I was invited by a resident to accompany him to 
an Indian reservation in the northern part of the Terri- 
tory, where he was going on business. He promised 
that, if I went with him, he would show me some of the 
grandest scenery on the Continent, and give me an op- 
portunity of enjoying such sport with rod and gun as I 
had never dreamed of in my wildest flights of fancy. 
I accepted the invitation with the promptest alacrity, 
and managed to secure one for a companion named— 
Smith will do—whose acquaintance I had made in a stage 
coach while travelling through the country. Smith—what 
a convenient name for those who do not want to invent 
one—was a capital fellow in many ways, but he had one 
besetting sin of which no amount of lecturing would break 
him, and that was punning. And such puns! I often 
wondered how he escaped with his life after torturing 
people with them, for they were often vile enough to cause 
an archbishop to think of murder. 
Smith was so delighted with the idea of rambling 
through the region in the society of an experienced cice- 
rone, and dipping his lines in pleasant waters—for he 
was more of a Walton than a Nimrod, though nothing in 
the shape of sport came amiss to him—that he indulged 
in a dozen death-dealing puns in less than an hour after 
the invitation was received. The morning appointed for 
starting on our expedition found us awake with the sun, 
and after dressing, and getting our implements of war in 
good condition, we walked to my friend’s house and 
