36 BIG GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



tressing action and pitiful cry at the other extremity of its 

 prison. It lived two we'eks, and died of a broken "heart. 

 The sorrowing Englishman gave it a burial in a pretty, 

 shady place, such as he thought it longed for in life. 



Near the northern boundary of Idaho is what is known 

 as the Lake Region. Within a radius of seven miles may be 

 seen fourteen beautiful tarns, every one. the reserve source 

 of a rushing, mad, mountain river, which has a deep, rocky 

 canon for a bed, leading ultimately to the same "destina- 

 tion — to the great wide and windin"g~Columbia, that redeems 

 a broad desert and finds rest in the sea. Near these lakes 

 is a wilderness that gives the Moose the solitude and shelter 

 he loves, and fine groves of deciduous trees to feed upon, 

 when water-plants are locked in winter's keeping. 



The Moose in the Lake Region of Idaho do not seek the 

 valleys in winter. Here, as in Canada, they form yards, 

 and beat down the snow in the quaking aspen groves. They 

 have never been hunted there in winter, to my knowledge, 

 the Indians preferring to subsist on the meat of the Elk 

 and Deer, which are found not so remote from their valley 

 homes. 



The Indian is not an epicure. He enjoys most the food 

 that is easiest to secure. Any flesh is meat for an Indian' s 

 larder, the only fear he feels being that he may not get 

 enough of it. 



In the winter of 1885, I crossed a mountain divide, from 

 a mining-camp near Coeur d'Alene Lake, in search of 

 a Moose. I went alone, as no other idle man in camp was 

 willing to climb a mountain, on snow-shoes, that would 

 require a circuitous run of seven miles to gain the sum- 

 mit The snow was only about fifteen inches deep, and 

 the mild weather warranted the belief that a Moose would 

 be fat and the best of fresh meat. In fact, like other 

 lovers of the chase, I was prolific of arguments that con- 

 vinced me that I should go a-hunting; and a-hunting I did 

 go. When, after five hours of hard labor, I gained the 

 bleak summit, a cutting wind cooled my enthusiasm. I 

 shuddered at the horrors of a winter blizzard nine thousand 



