AMONG THE BLACKTAILS. 



175 



"Do you think I will kill a deer on the 

 trip?" 



"Yes, or be run over by one before 

 night." 



The prediction was nearly verified later 

 while Harm was taking a drink and lying 

 directly across a runway, his gun resting 

 on the ground near. I jumped 3 deer 

 above him; all followed the well-beaten 

 path; Harm was compelled to step aside 

 to let them pass! 



"What beats me is, that after I let the 

 first one pass, the others persisted in fol- 

 lowing the path, although they must have 

 seen me. I think they would have run over 

 me if I had lain still. Gun? Why, I never 

 thought of it! But (reflectively) they were 

 does and must not be killed, see?'' 



Two splendid heads fell to guns before 

 9 A. M. The meat was packed to camp 

 later. Several others were brought in by 

 our party, and the second day in camp 

 found all supplied with a pair of antlers. 

 The remainder of the time was devoted to 

 jerking venison and preparing the heads 

 for the taxidermist. We finished the day 

 by climbing the peaks, and with the aid of 

 a field-glass watching the droves of deer 

 come out to feed. 



Hunting in the Rockies should be (Tone 

 on horseback, and supplies carried on pack- 

 horses, thereby enabling the hunter to visit 

 ranges to which game resorts. Ranchmen 

 assured us that where we were then find- 

 ing deer in abundance, few would be seen 

 2 weeks later. 



There were no bear sign in that locality. 

 The reason was obvious. There was no 

 shack. We had not lost any bears, but 

 there was extreme anxiety to hunt grizzlies 

 as soon as it was known none were in the 

 locality! 



Mountain trout abound in the streams 

 and take the fly with generous self abne- 

 gation that is gratifying. Coachmen and 

 brown hackle proved attractive, as no doubt 

 other favorite flies would. While waiting 

 for dinner in Fish creek canyon, I tried 

 in vain to find a place clear of willows so 

 I could cast in the orthodox manner. Fail- 

 ing, I tied a single coachman to the end of 

 the line, reeled up to the knot, and worked 

 the rod through the brush. The fly was 

 taken as soon as it touched the water, and 

 the trout yanked out endwise without any 

 fancy manipulation of the fish. Under such 

 disadvantages I captured 12 trout, weigh- 

 ing 6 to 10 ounces each, while Johnny was 

 boiling the coffee. Rcy declared that the 

 mountain trout excel in flavor our native 

 speckled ones. While willing to admit 

 their excellence, I do not think any fish is 

 better than our own speckled variety. 



We returned via the Union Pacific, and 

 in Nebraska were treated to some prairie 

 chicken shooting and jack rabbit coursing 

 by greyhounds. This was novel sport to our 

 party, although I confess that the escape 

 of a game old jack, after a chase of one 

 mile straightaway, gave me more pleasure 

 than the numerous pick ups during the day. 



GUY. 



W. P. MAC HENRY. 



1st Year. 



Guy's a wiggling, wobbling, stumbling 

 pup, 



With antics so all unplanned; 

 And when I finish bringing him up 



He'll hunt 'em "to beat the band." 



2d Year. 



He ranges wide and his head is high; 



All ginger, iron and sand; 

 And it breaks my heart to punish Guy 



When he turns and licks my hand. 



3d Year. 



His scent is keen, and hot as hell, 



And I never use the whip. 

 He's learned his lesson, and learned it 

 well, 



And he never makes a slip. 



4th Y'ear. 



To-night he's at home, and near the fire; 



The best friend I've ever had; 

 He's older, wiser — muscles like wire — 



But his eyes are growing sad. 



5th Year. 



His head's still high; he's a proud old chap. 



He's sick; he's going to die. 

 "Higher, boy — so, in my lap — 



Good by, old chap, good by." 



