FOREST AND STREAM. 



rim of a vast basin scooped out of the side of the moun- 

 tain. A cold damn wind swept across from the snow- 

 banks on the other side; the heavy twilight was fast con- 

 densing into darkness here in the shadow of the mountains; 

 the scream of a far-away hawk, just reached me, and a 

 chilling sense of utter loneliness in the midst of this wild 

 inaccessible desolation struck deep home, and, for an in- 

 stant almost unnerved me. It was only for an instant 

 though, when, shaking off fears which interfered with 

 the alertness and vigor that alone could aid, I sprang 

 Into the saddle again and scanned closely the landmarks 

 and bearings. In so doing I noticed at the eastern edge of 

 the basin a certain depression, and it immediately occur- 

 red to me that the miners might have pointed out the 

 wrong bluff, as the one underneath which the trail to the 

 Pass ran, and that it came up over there, as the little wo- 

 man had told me, instead of where I had attempted to out 

 do General Putnam. It was a happy thought, and my 

 spirits rose as I spurred my horse across this terrible moor. 

 Afte? five minutes perilous riding I discerned a wavering 

 line running across the landscape. Jumping down I could 

 just make out footprints. It was a trail I and it led straight 

 toward the lofty summit I wanted to cross. It was always 

 rough and always steep. I walked wherever I could save 

 my horse and not lose time, which was the price of my 

 life, and at last was at the top, panting and foot-sore. 



Were you ever 13,000 feet above the sea in the Rocky 

 Mountains at sunset? Yes! Then I need not tell you how 

 gloriously burst upon my vision, as I came up out of the 

 gloom, that gorgeous panorama floating in vapory amber. 

 I could better have described, no doubt, I could better 

 have appreciated, all the wondrous beauty of the scene, 

 had I been less weary and hungry, and cold; yet I believe 

 I did jot down in my note book something about the mag- 

 nificence of color, and turn over a few stones to see if 

 there were any luckless alpine bugs under them, while my 

 faithful friend nibbled the few forlorn bunches of sere grass 

 that had escaped being blown off this high combing, so 

 sharp that you might stand astride of it. If this was really 

 Mosquito Pass, I thought it was a pass not in the sense of 

 a depression through the Range, but merely a place where 

 it was possible to reach the top of precipitous cliffs, and 

 get down again on the other side. I no longer wondered 

 at the dimness of the trail. 



But the fading glow of the setting sun and the deepening 

 indigo which was obliterating all but the outlines of the 

 opposite range of mountain?, admonished me to hasten. 

 Fifteen hundred feet below I could faintly see great 

 patches of forest, toward which I hurried, glad that my 

 night was to be spent under the shelter of trees rather than 

 on these bleak barrens, where numbing cold would proba- 

 bly lure me into a sleep from which there would be no 

 awakening. I had no ambition to be the hero of a second 

 "Excelsior.*' The western slope of the mountain was of 

 loose gravel, and so steep that riding down was out of the 

 question; a mountain horse cannot be led beyond a snail's 

 pace, so that much haste was impossible down the zig-zag 

 path, and it was almost dark again when the more gentle 

 grassy slope was reached, and quite so when I struck the 

 spruce timber, and came to a fork in the trail. All you 

 can do in such a case is to let your horse decide for you. 

 Buckskin took to the left and plunged across a little stream 

 through rushes and alder bushes, entirely regardless of the 

 comfort of his rider. Indeed, the whole situai ion seemed 

 constructed with like disregard, and I am not ashamed to 

 confess that the mercury in my spirit thermometer (if a 

 bull may be excused) was down almost to zero. The cold 

 air from the snowy peaks around settled down like an icy 

 blanket; a chilling breeze swept up the valley and pene- 

 trated to my very bones; the bushes which scratched my 

 legs and whipped my face were saturated with receut rain; 

 fallen trees and deep-worn water-gullies obstructed the 

 obscure trail; and it was very dark. Still no signs of man- 

 kind appeared, and after many times losing the trail and 

 finding it again, I was at last brought to a stand still in the 

 midst of a patch of burnt stubs, where prostrate and tang- 

 led logs effectually barred further progress. 



Judging it was now as late as 10 o'clock, it seemed so 

 useless to try to get further, and the hanging head of my 

 ail-but exhausted horse pleaded so hard for rest, that I 

 turned back to a little open space and unsaddled; Buck- 

 skin thanking me with a great sigh. Securing him by his 

 lariat, I dragged the heavy Ranger saddle to an evergreen, 

 and searched the saddle-bags for matches, for if one is 

 warm, being hungry does not much matter. Alas! there 

 were none! For the first (and last) time during that sum- 

 mer in Colorado I found myself without those little indis- 

 pensables. I did not really know enough at that time to 

 light a fire with my revolver, and though it did occur to me 

 as a possible expedient, I was a little doubtful as to the 

 prudence of the experiment, lest the report might awaken 

 the unwelcome curiosity of some wandering wolves or 

 cougars, which I knew were not uncommon in that region. 

 (Now, I think, I should make the noise, and certainly the fire 

 to keep them away.) Then I look an inventory of my 

 goods: First there were my saddle and saddle-bags, which 

 contained nothing but useless things— such as a flask, from 

 which all but odor had departed in my struggles on the 

 other side of the "divide," and a pipe, the sight of which 

 war, tantalizing— second a pair of woolen socks which I 



pulled on. - tl 



The saddle was my pillow. Its tientos held a rubber 

 blanket which, with a thin worn out saddle-blanket, con- 

 stituted my bed. I spread my rubber blanket under the 

 Sloping roof of the lower branches of an isolated spruce, 

 gathered the other ragged one about my legs, belted my 

 army overcoat tighter about me, and laid down. I was 



very weary; my horse's steady craunchmg was the only 

 disturbing sound, and I soon fell asleep 1 . My nap was not 

 a long one, though the cold was intense, but rearranging 

 my blankets a little better I again slept an hour or two. This 

 time I awoke so thoroughly chilled, that gather myself as 

 closely together as I might, it was no use; I got colder and 

 colder until I shook in every member, and the fatal languor of 

 declining animation began to steal over my senses. I had 

 just moral strength enough left to rouse myself and move 

 slowly around until my torpid blood renewed somewhat 

 the vivacity of its circulation. I went over to my horse: 

 he was standing head down, the picture of cold and lone- 

 some misery. With a low neigh, as I approached, he came 

 to meet me, and followed we with his nose resting on my 

 shouldfer as I walked back and forth within the limits of 

 his tether. 



What anight it was! I was in a little glade, walled in 

 by a sombre forest of black spruces, except where, on one 

 side, a group of burned trunks stretched aloft their while 

 skeleton arms, — spectres of trees. The grass was white 

 and crisp with frost which crunched under my feet as I 

 paced my beat. Overhead the stars seemed fairly to pro- 

 ject from their jetty background like spear points aimed at 

 my head. I noted the slow wheeling of that platoon of 

 nebulae— the milky way. I studied the constellations but 

 got little comfort; Corona only suggested 



"That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things," 

 and the Pleiades seemed to beg me to sympathize with their 

 lost sister. At one side a bit of the creek valley was visi- 

 ble, over which the whitish snow-crest of some mountains 

 gleamed faintly. It was prof ouudly still; the icy water 

 gurgled under the aldeis; the tall muffled trees swayed 

 stiffly as though their sap was congealed; there was an oc- 

 casional ringing snap of frost, like fairies clinking glasses, 

 but these sounds were so consonant with the whole scene 

 that they did not disturb the stillness, serving rather to 

 make my mind more sensible of it. There was no particu- 

 lar credit in the fact that I felt no fear, for there was noth- 

 ing to alarm me, and the apprehension of the previous 

 evening had settled into a certainty where my mind rested 

 calmly. My walking warmed me, and giving myself 

 up to imaginative thought I really came to enjoy the 

 novelty of the experience, and U receive with serene de- 

 light the sweet influences of the night. Thus quieting 

 myself, fatigue and drowsiness gradually weighted my 

 eyelids, till, scarcely feeling what I did, I again laid my 

 head on the saddle and did not awake until the blue ridges 

 were grandly and sharply outlined against a glowing back- 

 ground of auroral light. 



I was much refreshed, and throwing off my blanket, 

 which was frozen as stiff as sheet-iron, saddled and pushed 

 on. That I had got so far the night before was surprising, 

 for I could hardly follow the unused trail by daylight. But 

 the stage-road, which after a while appeared, was the end 

 of all my difficulties, and a few miles further down I took 

 breakfast at Oro City, whence I pursued my journey, riding 

 40 miles before night. 



Thus ended my night in Mosquito Pass, the remcmber- 

 ance of which is probably more agreeable to the traveler 

 himself than likely to prove interesting when narrated. 



E liNEST iNGEltSOLL . 



A DEER CHASE ON THE OTTAWA. 



Editor Forest and Stream:— 



ON Saturday morning, September the 30th, I and my 

 friend C. left here on the steamer Peerless for 

 Thurso. Our baggage consisted of a well filled provision 

 bag, a pair of blankets each, a can of powder, 40 pounds 

 of shot, two shot guns, two small axes, our tent, and a 

 bark canoe. We arrived at Thurso at 12 o'clock, got into 

 the canoe and ran for an island down the river, where we 

 landed and pitched the tent. On Monday we started out 

 and saw a good many ducks, very wild; there were also a 

 good many cranes. In the afternoon we crossed over to 

 the main land and found a good swamp, with some ducks, 

 which we did not get a chance to lire at. Tuesday till 

 Thursday it rained so that we had to stay under canvas. 

 On Thursday morning we woke up about six, and I started 

 to make the fire. C. came out of the tent just as I had it 

 ready for the match, and happening to glance over his 

 shoulder said: "Wat, there's a deer on the island." 



1 jumped to my feet and looked over, and saw the deer 

 just disappearing behind a clump of bushes. Seizing my 

 gun I rushed out to the sand bar, and there was the deer 

 half way across the river making for the main land. Run- 

 ning back, I called for C. to come, for we must chase it 

 in the canoe. Back he came, and snatching the lighest 

 axe and one knife as he passed the tent, put them in the 

 canoe, which we ran down to the beach. The waves were 

 running pretty high and we had to go in the trough, but 

 we did not mind that, but paddled our best after the deer. 

 We headed it off about twenty-five yards from shore. I 

 took ray gun, which was loaded with shot, and, taking 

 aim, fired, but the water we had shipped had wet the 

 charge so it did not go off. Bending down in the bow C. 

 then fired over my shoulder with better luck, for the shot 

 struck him behind the left ear; but the shot being fine 

 they did not do much damage. So, after him we went 

 again, our only resource being the axe and "knife. We 

 headed him off from shore again and ran up alongside of 

 him when I rose up in the bow with the axe and aimed a 

 blow at its head; but he dodged and it took effect in his 

 right shoulder, going in so deep that I was unable to pull 

 it out, and so had to let it go. He soon sIiook it out, how- 

 ever, and it disappeared in the water. But that cut told 



on him, for his stroke commenced to get weaker, so we ran 

 him right up shore till his feet touched bottom, then C 

 sprang out of the stern and alighted astride of his back, and 

 catching him by the ears, drew his knife across his throat, 

 cutting the windpipe right through. I ran the canoe en 

 shore, and we both pulled him out of the water. He was 

 in splendid condition, and so were we, as we had not a dry 

 tack on us. The water we had shipped in the canoe was 

 about four inches deep from bow to stern. We then car- 

 ried the deer to camp, lighted a fire, dried our clothes, and 

 got breakfast, after which we skinned and quartered the 

 deer and made preparations for starting the next morning 

 for home. We had to make two loads up to Thurs© as the 

 deer weighed 250 pounds. At last we got on board the 

 steamer and reached home about 8 p. m., all safe, but very 

 cold, and so ended our first hunt. \y. 



•«**• 



For Forest and Stream. 

 BOB AND THE BEAR. 



V 



PANORAMA of forest and cloud, with sparkling 

 lakes distant and near, and ahead of us, waving in 

 the crisp afternoon breeze a flag; we have nearly reached 

 our camp, and the D. L. Club-House is ready to receive 

 us. And who arc we? Why, theie are three of us Club 

 fellows, and one g»iest, and the familial ity bred of camp 

 life has long ago given them short nick-names born of 

 circumstances, and held to with that persistence often ap- 

 pertaining to trifles. "Old Bob" and "Old Smudge" are 

 jolly good fellows, always laboring under tne impression 

 that they can give odds to the "Doctor" and "St. Louis" 

 at "Seven up," or kindred games, and laboring honestly 

 and severely at other tasks, yet brimming with excuse and 

 explanation. "St. Louis," of wide experience in western 

 sports, but seeking the new in eastern waters. 



So here we are, for a week of September sport, on the 

 edge of the wilderness, yet with the comfort of civiliza- 

 tion. In one camp the conveniences and comforts. At the 

 lauding at Duck lake are birches, which are to convey us 

 to our pleasures. And what a scene we have before us! 

 The forest, old and primeval, stretching in rounded billows 

 as far as eye can reach, the maples just commencing to 

 turn, and enlivening with their crimson coloring the 

 sombreness born of the foliage of the spruce. At distant 

 intervals the towering pine, the remnant of the noble tree 

 long since cut, hauled and floated with toilsome effort 

 down the water courses to the mill3, and thence for the 

 needs of civilized and destructive man. The waters are 

 low, and the water-grasses in places form a green lining to 

 our lake. The white sand beaches, and the rocks black- 

 ened and weather-worn offer agreeable contrast. Here and 

 there protruding rocks, even in mid lake, offering to the 

 imagination recesses for the hiding of fish, and convenient 

 footing-place for the fly fisherman. The cry of the loon 

 echoes from the surrounding shores; the piping of birds, 

 and the chatter of the squirrel/greet our ears in a pleasing 

 harmony of sound, and unconsciously we become part of 

 that untamed nature about us; our very wantonness of 

 song and merry rejoinder seems but part and parcel of 

 the wood notes. We may emulate the cries of the children 

 of the wood, but neither as harsh as the scolding jay, nor as 

 resonant as the loud-voiced loon, our feeble attempts seem, 

 but fitting to the quietness of the sylvan and watery scene, 

 and as harmonious to the distant ear as our several canoes 

 are to the eye. The canoe, the most graceful and wildest 

 boat which floats, and one which is always redolent of 

 fragrant birch wood, and pleasant memoirs of sports of the 

 past. We are fishermen— true disciples of old Isaac- 

 lovers of the rod and reel, of woodland, lake, and the social 

 amenities which come of good success and good compani- 

 onship. We love the haunts of the speckled trout, and 

 delight much in the streams of Rangely; we are familiar 

 with moose head; we speak slightingly of the Adirondacks; 

 we of the cream will take, and what precedes is but skim- 

 milk. We, therefore, haven't chosen the landlocked 

 salmon for our love, and in this quiet place, unknown to 

 the cockney fisherman, we have builded our camp, and 

 here we recreate, and are satisfied. 



In a morning up we rise, 



'Ere Aurora's peeping; 



Drink a cup to wash our eyes, 



Leave tUe sluggard sleeping. 

 Then for breakfast; and such an appetite. We eat, a 

 looker-on would suppose, for the whole week, and then we 

 start for our birches. In our hands the rod; in our rear 

 are guides with net. bundles and lunch. "Old Bob" takes 

 the lead always, while "Old Smudge" usually brings up 

 the rear. Wemeet the lake all smiling with ripples; or, as 

 w r as once the case, like a mirror. 



The wide lake, edged with sand and grass, 

 Was burnished to a floor of glass, 

 Painted with shadows, green and proud, 

 Of the tree, and of the cloud. 

 Smudge sighed for a wind; St. Louis wanted a west 

 wind. Old Bob said, or would have said, if he had thought 



of it:— 



When the wind Is south, 



It blows your bait into a fish's mouth, 



while the "Doctor," who usually takes the world as it 

 goes, professed himself lazy enough to be satisfied with 

 things as they were. 



, So the four birches started on the lake, and the flies were 

 unconcernedly allowed to drop into the water, while the 

 canoes progressed like a boy on his way to school. A start, 

 and an exclamation of delight, a burring of the reel, ana 

 the Doctor's rod bends, and at the end of the line, flip, 

 flip— a fish of two pounds and over out of water. *« 

 soon tires of this and is slowly reeled home, but asecon 



