272 



RECREATION. 



receding rather than approaching, I de- 

 scried the form of Chris coming toward me 

 at a 2:40 gait, slipping, sliding, jumping 

 and tumbling down the mountain side. 



"Did you see him?" he questioned, as 

 he came within speaking distance. 



"See whom? " 



"The deer I wounded." 



I informed him that no wounded deer 

 had crossed my track, and he explained to 

 me that shortly after the 4 whitetails had 

 made their escape into the ravine he had 

 jumped 5 mule deer and had fired 2 shots at 

 them. Although he was within a few hun- 

 dred yards of me when he fired the shots, I 

 had not heard the sound of his .30-40. The 

 deer had started toward the summit and he 

 had followed as quickly as it was possible 

 for him to make his way up the mountain. 

 Arriving at the summit he found that the 

 tracks made by the fleeing mowich indi- 

 cated that only 4 had passed over. He 

 concluded that he had wounded one, but 

 that in his excitement he had imagined he 

 saw all 5 start up the mountain; hence he 

 was on his way back to the place where he 

 had first started them, with a view to pick- 

 ing up the trail of the wounded deer. To- 

 gether we returned to what we supposed 

 was the objective neighborhood, but a 

 diligent search failed to disclose any sign 

 of the missing deer; and as for blood stains, 

 the snow was as pure and white as at the 

 hour it had fallen. 



Resuming our tramp up the mountain, 

 we reached the summit a little before dark, 

 and resting our tired bones on a fallen log, 

 with a giant fir as a back to the seat, we 

 feasted our eyes on the scene of beauty 

 spread out below and around us. The sun, 

 hidden behind the sharp peaks of the most 

 distant range within view, threw its corus- 

 cations and scintillations of cold white 

 light far up into the Western sky, and they 

 were reflected back from the snow-capped 

 masses of rock that seemed to tower away 

 above timber line. Closer at hand, but 

 far below us, ran seamed and ragged gulches 

 whose sides were decorated with snow-en- 

 crusted foliage of pine and fir, inter- 

 mingled with the ghastly, needle-shorn 

 limbs of the tamarac. To the North lay 

 the great gorge through which the mighty 

 Kootenai found an outlet from its icy 

 source far up in the British possessions to 

 the sunny waters of the Pacific. Off to the 

 South and West could be seen ;j2 deep, 

 wooded canyons converging, indicating 

 the place where the Fisher and West 

 Fisher join forces. Far in every direction 

 stretched the foliage-skirted and rock- 

 capped mountains. From the head waters 

 of the Swift Current and Mac Donald lake, 

 which take their rise on the summit of the 

 main range of the Rocky mountains, 200 

 miles to the Eastward, to the confluence 

 of the Kootenai and the turbulent Yakt, 



almost 100 miles to the Westward; from 

 the Tobacco and Elk rivers on the North 

 to Flathead lake and Swan river on the 

 South was one vast stretch of mountain 

 and woodland, dotted by lakes and 

 threaded by hundreds of crystal streams. 

 In almost the centre of this vast stretch of 

 mountain woodland, often spoken of as a 

 dimple in the cheek of nature, nestles the 

 little valley of the Flathead, with its city 

 of 3,000 busy, restless, ambitious inhabi- 

 tants. 



What section in all this broad land could 

 furnish the hunter with such numbers and 

 varieties of game? The South Fork with 

 its elk and whitetail deer; the North Fork 

 and MacDonald lake with their moose, 

 goats, sheep and deer; the Yakt, the Fisher, 

 the Stillwater and the Kootenai with their 

 quota of caribou, sheep, whitetail and 

 mule deer; to say nothing of the wild 

 fowl, the bear and the mountain lion, that 

 curse of all game countries, particularly the 

 locality in which I found myself on the 

 evening of December 30th, 1900. Yet 

 how prodigal and reckless of all this game 

 have been the inhabitants of this section. 



Ten years ago these canyons did not 

 echo to the whistle of the locomotive. 

 A single tote road threaded its way through 

 these passes from the summit to the Idaho 

 line. Then came the building of a railroad. 

 With the approach of winter thousands 

 of deer came down from the high ranges 

 until the woods swarmed with white flags 

 and the antlers of giant mule deer. Then 

 did the idle railroad laborer, the engineer, 

 the camp follower and the hanger-on sally 

 forth with all kinds of fire arms; then did 

 gulch and crag re-echo hourly the crack 

 of murderous rifles ; then did the poor, be- 

 wildered creatures, seeking refuge from the 

 inhospitable fastnesses above, fall by hun- 

 dreds and thousands. To what purpose? 

 To feed the hungry mouths of men, women 

 and children, or even dogs? No! simply to 

 satisfy man's ungovernable desire to kill, 

 to slaughter, to "see them fall." All through 

 the winter months, covered by a white 

 mantle of snow, thousands of carcasses 

 were strewn along the line of the railway, 

 to fester and rot when the summer sun 

 made its appearance. Yea! verily, in the 

 case of railroad construction, man's enter- 

 prise and progress exacted a bloody trib- 

 ute from the gentle creatures which inhab- 

 ited the Kootenais. 



Such is the story of the great county of 

 Flathead. For years past deer have been 

 mercilessly slaughtered in all sections of 

 that county to gratify the morbid whim of 

 would-be sportsmen, and to fill the pockets 

 of hide and market hunters. Yet there has 

 been no awakening on the part of its offi- 

 cers or inhabitants to the gravity of the 

 crime. The killing of deer out of season 

 and in excess of the number permitted by 



