WOMEN IN CAMP. 



MRS. S. E. ABBOTT. 



On August 8, 1895, a party of 3 left Lead- 

 ville, Colo., on an extended camping trip 

 in the mountains. Mrs. M — , my husband 

 and I led the way, to make a temporary 

 camp and await some friends, when we 

 would all go on together. 



A few hours' ride by rail took us to Wol- 

 cott, where the pack outfit was in readiness. 

 No time was lost in getting away from 

 town, but we were glad to camp early the 

 first night, for as yet we were not hardened 

 to the rough work. 



Making our way onward for several days, 

 through beautiful, rugged mountains, we 

 reached a stream where we were to wait for 

 the others. They did not come for nearly 

 a month; and we, meanwhile, lived in sweet 

 idleness. The first thing we did, of course, 

 was to fix up the camp and surroundings. 

 After the tent was made homelike, nails 

 were driven into convenient trees for towel- 

 racks — and hat-racks too, for that matter; 

 stumps were utilized for wash-stands, and 

 gooseberry bushes for clothes-lines. My 

 husband built a few rustic seats in shady 

 corners, and even put up a swing. A tar- 

 get was also arranged, and this was fre- 

 quently in use, for I had a little 22-calibre 

 rifle and 1,000 cartridges. 



When the household affairs were running 

 smoothly, we began to look about for some 

 excitement. About 6 miles up the creek 

 there was a little lake. Starting early one 

 morning, we made for this, with our minds 

 set on trout. 



The horses were unsaddled and turned 

 out to graze, while we fished. I say we, 

 though my friend and I seemed only to 

 frighten the trout into deep water. My 

 husband, with clouded brow, seated himself 

 at the other end of the lake, where he was 

 successful in luring enough innocents out 

 of the water for our supper. 



On another trip after trout, toward the 

 latter part of the month, we saw fresh elk 

 signs. My husband was at once eager for 

 big game, but did not go out until Septem- 

 ber 2. That morning he started on horse- 

 back, leading a pack animal. He had not 

 gone far before seeing a fresh trail of elk. 

 This led him through dense timber for a 

 mile. Here the sign seemed more recent. 

 Dismounting, he dropped the reins, then 

 dodged from tree to tree, sometimes crawl- 

 ing on all fours. 



Proceeding in this way for a few minutes, 

 he found himself within 25 yards of the 

 herd. Cows and calves could be seen, but 

 he was looking for the leader. After what 

 seemed hours of waiting, the bull walked 

 out of a clump of bushes, sniffing the air as 

 if scenting danger. No sooner did the hunt- 



er see its immense antlers than the Marlin 

 came into position. At the report, the great 

 beast dropped out of sight so quick that the 

 shooter doubted his good luck. However, 

 investigation showed that the bullet had 

 broken the bull's neck, killing him in- 

 stantly. At the shot the herd fairly tore up 

 the earth as it went down the mountain. 



Taking the head — a good specimen — and 

 the hind quarters, he packed them into 

 camp, returning on the following day for 

 the remainder of the meat. 



With grouse in plenty, gooseberries ga- 

 lore, beside our well-filled panniers, we did 

 not want for enough to eat; but we began 

 to grow discontented. Every day we ex- 

 pected to see our friends, but still they did 

 not come. 



Several days after the elk hunt, my hus- 

 band took me out, that I might try to kill 

 a deer. Starting rather late, we took the 

 trail to Trout creek. After crossing it, we 

 moved along more cautiously, in the hope 

 of seeing game. A number of does and 

 fawns were seen, but we had almost given 

 up the hope of getting a buck. As the 

 hours passed, we condescended to kill a 

 few grouse, for they were better than no 

 meat. Riding leisurely along, we came to 

 a small park, and as we rode into it, a snort 

 came from a clump of pines. Instantly a 

 buck sprang out and started across the 

 open. My husband's horse, an old-timer, 

 would almost hold his breath while a shot 

 was being made; and the knowing animal 

 at once stopped. Jerking his rifle from its 

 scabbard, the hunter sent a bullet after the 

 vanishing buck, hitting him squarely 

 through the shoulders. Down he went, 

 then scrambling to his feet tried to run, 

 then fell over for good. 



The report started another deer, which, 

 in its effort to escape, nearly ran over me. 

 Now, no woman will tolerate such antics, 

 especially when she is carrying a rifle and is 

 dying to shoot at something. Up came the 

 rifle, " bang-bang." An astonished man 

 looked in our direction, and saw a fallen 

 buck and a much excited woman standing 

 over it. This was my first big game. Both 

 shots struck it and either would have been 

 fatal; but — well. I was taking no chances. 



An hour later the deer were hanging in 

 the shade of a pine tree not far from the 

 tent. 



The time went by, day after day, and we 

 began to wonder why our friends did not 

 come. Finally, on September 15. as we 

 were at breakfast, a horseman rode up. It 



was M , who had galloped on ahead. 



The others soon came into sight. One of 

 them, a Mr. H , had come from New 



449 



