THE DIARY OF A TENDERFOOT 



CHARLES C. TRUESDELL. 



Early in July, r899, Jack, Mack, Frank 

 and I left Idaho Springs, Colorado, for a 

 long overland trip through the West. Our 

 route took us through the Rockies, over 

 the desert to Salt Lake, thence across Ida- 

 ho and Wyoming, over the Teton range, 

 down into Jackson's Hole, through the 

 Yellowstone Park, and ended at Cinnabar, 

 Montana. After 10 days of travel we de- 

 cided to make a side trip to Trappers' 

 lake, Colorado. 



We left our buckboard at a ranch near 

 Pyramid peak, mounted our bronchos and 

 were soon fairly started on what proved to 

 be the hardest ride of the trip. After 

 fording numerous streams we reached the 

 foot hills. Then began the long and te- 

 dious journey over the first range. Our 

 horses were forced to pick their way 

 through the burnt lands and down timber, 

 and they did it in a way that caused me to 

 regret not having doubled my life in- 

 surance. 



When finally we reached the summit 

 we were surprised to find great drifts of 

 snow on the other side; but Jack said, 

 ''When I start for Trappers' lake I usually 

 go there," and started right through the 

 first drift. My horse did not give me much 

 time to think of the East and friends, but 

 soon followed Jack's lead, floundering, 

 slipping, sliding and fairly crawling 

 through the drifts. After about 2 hours we 

 reached the foot and found ourselves in the 

 most beautiful deer park I ever saw. We 

 counted over 40 deer and saw numerous 

 signs of elk before we turned to cross the 

 last divide. 



Finding a good pass we had little diffi- 

 culty in reaching the other side. Then be- 

 gan the last 13 miles, through a succession 

 of parks, and we were soon tired of count- 

 ing deer. It seems strange that after we 

 had encountered all the dangers of the 

 range an accident should happen on a 

 comparatively smooth trail, but such was 

 the case. Jack and I had stopped to gather 

 some mushrooms and were about a mile 

 behind the rest of the outfit when Jack 

 said, "Come on, Tender!" clapped the spurs 

 to his horse, gave a Sioux whoop that 

 made my horse jump into the creek, and 

 flew along the trail. I followed. The 

 horses were anxious to reach the others 

 and were not giving their usual attention 

 to the trail. Jack's horse put his foot in a 

 badger hole and Jack stopped in the trail 

 about 15 feet over the horse's head. I 

 brought my horse to a stop and saw Jack 

 sitting in the trail trying to grab with his 

 hands enough air to breathe. 



"Is that what you fellows call hitting 

 the trail?" I asked. 



"No; this is where the trail hits me. 

 It's the first time, and it's all on account 

 of having a tenderfoot in the outfit with 

 a taste for those d toadstools." 



I could not say what I wanted to then 

 about poor horsemanship, for I did not 

 like the way Jack eyed me as he was blow- 

 ing the dust out of his gun; but I made 

 up my mind that if I ever lived to get East 

 of the Mississippi I would tell Jack what 



I thought of him in a phonograph and 

 send him the record, or through a marked 

 copy of Recreation. At any rate, Jack 

 must hear my opinion of him when I am 

 out of range. 



We rounded up his horse and were soon 

 up with the rest. Jack explained the de- 

 lay by saying he had to wait for Tender to 

 photograph chipmunks. I did not deem it 

 wise to dispute him then, so reserved nail- 

 ing that lie for the phonograph. After 

 half an hour's ride the far famed Trappers' 

 lake burst into view like an emerald from 

 the darkness. Trout were breaking water 

 everywhere. Turning our horses to feed, 

 we soon had our rods equipped, and while 

 Mack and Frank rustled a fire and ar- 

 ranged the camp Jack and I tried the 

 trout. I can not call it sport, for the min- 

 ute my flies tickled the water they were 

 all filled. In playing the 3 trout, of at 

 least one pound each, one broke away, but 

 his place was taken by another before I 

 could retrieve a yard of line. I soon had 



II and Jack 5. Jack said he could have 

 caught 100 in the time I had taken, but 

 that he did not care to fish, preferring to 

 see me make a fool of myself killing trout. 

 He thought he would better take them all 

 to camp and leave me there to lose' some 

 more. He did not have his gun, so I ven- 

 tured to remark that in my humble opinion 

 he was better at horsemanship and gather- 

 ing mushrooms than at casting for trout. 

 Instinctively his hand sought the right 

 side of his belt. Not finding his gun- he 

 tried to kill me with a look. I had a rise 

 just then so I did not scare. 



The trout in Trappers' lake run from one 

 to 2^ pounds in weight and are very gamy 

 and high colored, but there are too many 

 of them. 



After spending 3 days at Trappers' we 

 kept the trail from hitting us for about 6 

 weeks and arrived at Yellowstone Park. 

 There we had the usual experience of a 

 visit from a bear at night. He saved us 

 the trouble of washing the dishes by lick- 

 ing the coffee cups and plates and getting 

 his hide outside of things generally. 



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