SEEING THE OLD CENTURY OUT. 



SIDNEY M. LOGAN. 



Far up in one of the box canyons of the 

 Kootenai range, curled up on a couch of fir 

 poles, wrapped in a pair of California 

 blankets, lulled by the sonorous blasts of 

 a Rocky Mountain storm and the yelp of a 

 coyote as it circled around the carcass of a 

 big buck not far distant, Chris and I 

 saw the old century out; and, in the lan- 

 guage of Bret Harte, "it happened this 

 wise": 



In Flathead valley and the surrounding 

 mountains the fall and early winter of 

 1900 held but poor promise to the anxious 

 sportsman. Rapidly the December days 

 flitted past, but it seemed that the snow- 

 fall so necessary to a successful deer hunt 

 would never make its appearance. The 

 25th was ushered in, and with the excep- 

 tion of a few scattering flakes of snow it 

 proved to be a green Christmas. All that 

 time the close season, it seemed to at least 

 2 individuals, was approaching with in- 

 decent haste. January 1st would be the 

 last day on which it would be lawful "to 

 shoot or otherwise kill" the mowich, 

 whether of thefwhitetail or mule deer spe- 

 cies. Long ago the Major and I had talked 

 matters over and had decided that Wolf 

 creek, many miles to the Westward, far up 

 in the Kootenais, should be the spot to 

 respond to the crack of our respective 

 .38-55's smokeless, and witness the down- 

 fall of countless antlered denizens of that 

 section where everything stands up edge- 

 wise. 



On the. 27th, after a protracted pow- 

 wow, we decided to start that night for 

 our chosen hunting ground, notwith- 

 standing reports that the snow had not 

 yet driven the deer down from the high 

 mountain peaks, and that the ground 

 where we proposed to hunt was absolutely . 

 bare. Then followed perhaps the most 

 pleasurable part of a grand deer hunt; the 

 gathering together of camp paraphernalia. 

 When that was complete we started for 

 the Kootenais, about 65 miles distant. 



Some time in the night we reached our 

 destination. As the vestibule doors of 

 our train were thrown open, we found 

 that a blizzard was on in full force. The 

 train came to a stop, and a few rapid 

 kicks served to deposit camp outfit and 

 bedding in the snow. We quickly fol- 

 lowed in the wake of the bedding. We 

 had scarcely time to recover our footing 

 on the slippery grade before the red and 

 green lights of the rear car were flashing 

 out of sight around a curve while we, by 

 the dim light of a borrowed railroad lan- 

 tern, gazed first at our pile of luggage and 



269 



then at the blank and slippery sides of the 

 cut in which we found ourselves. 



I started to hustle up the side of the cut, 

 but the coating of fresh snow slipped be- 

 neath my feet and before I had fairly 

 started up the incline I was deposited in the 

 ditch beside the camp outfit. Again and 

 again I tried to climb the frozen sides 

 of the cut, but as often I took an 

 involuntary toboggan slide into the 

 ditch before I had gone halfway up the 

 slippery incline. Finally we reached a 

 fairly level tract of ground. There we 

 built a fire, after a struggle of 30 minutes 

 with wind and wet wood. The Major 

 then fished out of his grip several sand- 

 wiches that he had carried in case of 

 emergency. He said that particular brand 

 of cheese came from Denmark, and I be- 

 came satisfied I had probed the mystery 

 of Ophelia's despondency and Hamlet's 

 melancholy. By the time we had fin- 

 ished supper it was 2:30 A. M., so, unfold- 

 ing our cots and spreading our blankets 

 there in the pelting snowstorm, we betook 

 ourselves to rest. 



With the first peep of day we were both 

 astir, and after a hurried breakfast of 

 bacon, coffee and bread, we undertook to 

 find a location for a permanent camp. 

 Snow had fallen during the entire night, 

 and was still falling; but the wind had sub- 

 sided. Beds and camp outfit were cov- 

 ered with snow, but the temperature had 

 moderated, and neither of us felt any dis- 

 agreeable effects from our outdoor sleep. 



The spot where we had dropped was 

 midway between the stations of Sterling and 

 Fisher River. Although almost the entire 

 landscape was hidden- behind a curtain of 

 falling snow, we could see that we were in a 

 deep canyon many miles in length, running 

 East and West. Down this canyon, and on 

 the opposite side of the railroad track from 

 the spot where we had passed the night, 

 noisily rattled the little stream known as 

 Wolf creek, overhung with intermingled 

 branches of willow, birch and evergreens. 

 From each side of the stream, gashed and 

 furrowed fragments of the great Kootenai 

 range rose high up into impenetrable 

 clouds of whirling, eddying, dancing, scur- 

 rying snow. Dim as the outlines were, 

 the landscape was beautiful and stirring. 



Within half a mile from the spot where 

 we had passed the previous night we found 

 an ideal camping ground; a level park-like 

 tract, perhaps 40 acres in extent, covered 

 with fallen pine, fir and tamarac trees, dry 

 and hard. On one corner of the tract 

 stood a thicket of young evergreens and 



