


lost patience, and gave it out that he would 
silence him forever at the next meeting. 
Needless to say every member was there. 
When all business had been transacted, the 
meeting settled down to talk over their 
catches. Quite accidentally (?) the con- 
versation turned on Thames trout. This 
was sufficient for the cockney, and for the 
last time, he treated us to the usual speech, 
finishing up with, “How difficult to fool a 
Londoner!” 
“That’s so,’ said the member who in- 
tended to silence the cockney, “you've 
heard me tell of the rich uncle whom I ex- 
pected would leave me his money, but 
didn’t? Well, I'll tell you the reason; it 
was because he thought I tried to fool 
him. My grandfather had a large store in 
London, and after his death my uncle took 
to the business, and there he stuck from 
Monday morn till Saturday night, never 
once taking a holiday, for fear the clerks 
would rob him or burn the store. He 
stuck to business till his health gave way; 
then wrote to father accepting his long- 
standing invitation and promising us a 
visit. He arrived one night about dusk, 
mother got him a nice supper and he went 
to bed, before which father told him he 
had to go off early in the morning to buy 
a lot of sheep, but would be back about 
4 o'clock in the afternoon. Meanwhile 
Tommy—that was I—would show him 
round. Next morning father took me on 
one side and gave me strict injunctions not 
to vex my uncle in any way because he 
might probably leave me his money, I be- 
ing the only nephew and uncle a bachelor. 
After breakfast mother made up a bouquet 
for uncle’s coat, and uncle and I started 
out. I took him round the garden, showed 
him the lettuce, cabbage, onions, radishes, 
etc., through the farm building, into the™ 
potato patch, telling him what it was. O, 
yes; he could see the little potatoes just 
forming on the tops of the vines. I was 
nearly telling him his mistake, but remem- 
bering what father said, held my tongue. 
We went into the wheat and I pulled some 
of the heads and rubbed the grains out in 
my hands; same with the oats and barley. 
Then we went to the meadow where the 
mowers had just began to cut the grass. 
i told him that was a hay field. Uncle 
bent down and began to examine the grass, 
after which he got up and shook his head 
and asatd = - No.” 
“But, it is, uncle.” 
Again he bent down and examined the 
grass, shook his head, and said:- 
{ Wou-cam ti fool me...’ 
“Indeed it is, uncle.” : 
_ “It is, eh? Then where’s the haycorns?” 
In the hubbub that followed the cockney 
slipped away, and the place knew him no 
more. S. Howarth, Florisant, Colo. 
FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 
191 
THE RED DESERT COUNTRY. 
I note an article by Dr. Dunham in 
October RECREATION svggesting a nation- 
al winter game preserve in the Red Desert 
of Wyoming. I can give a few facts 
about that little-known region. In May, 
°83, while camped on Sweetwater river 
near St. Mary’s, at the Northeastern boun- 
dary of the Red Desert I lost a 4-year-old 
race horse and as I was much attached 
to this horse I took great pains to recover 
him. I followed his trail to the desert and 
spent 2 weeks hunting for him. I found 
the region splendidly grassed, with water 
holes where least expected and a bunch of 
wild horses ranging there; but I never 
found my colt. The country was hilly and 
broken by coulees at the Northern end. 
In May, ’88, I went to Hoback basin and 
remained a year. At that time half the an- 
telope that wintered on Red Desert sum- 
mered in Hoback basin. This basin is lo- 
cated on Hoback river, 15 miles above its 
junctio with Snake river, at the head of 
Grand canyon. It is about 6 miles long by 
3 wide, beautifully grassed, and with pure, 
cold spring water in abundance. Its alti- 
fade? isi O;500 fects ~ Phe Hoback* runs 
through the center of the basin and, as 
there is no standing water, there are no 
flies or mosquitoes there; although in the 
mountains adjacent they are bad in June 
and July. 
The Gros Ventre mountains bound the 
basin on the North, the Lander and the 
Hoback mountains on the West and the 
Beaver divide on tke South. To the East 
is the high Green river divide. In May, 
antelope come to the basin from the Red 
desert country by the thousands, thin, poor 
and full of sage. By August they would 
be fat as Kentucky southdowns. I have 
shot antelope on every range in Wyoming 
but none so fat and fine flavored as in Ho- 
back basin. They would feed morning . 
and evening, drink and then lay down 
the rest of the day, contentedly chewing 
their cuds, or asleep. The winter I spent 
in the basin—’8&8-’89—probably 1,000 elk 
wintered there, but that was a short, light 
winter for that region. In the 7 years I 
lived at the Northeast end of Jackson 
lake I learned there is a great difference 
in the winters in-these mountains. 
The great herds of elk that range sum- 
mers between my home and Yellowstone 
lake bunch in the fall on Big meadow, a 
mile above the head of the lake, and then 
pass my ranch, going South tothe valley of 
the Buffalo fork of Snake river. If the 
winter is mild many of them winter on the 
great Buffalo fork ridges. But if a hard 
winter is coming they go on South to 
Jackson’s hole. 
This has been their wintering ground 
for ages and from there on down 
Snake river valley to below Swan valley 

