SEEING THE OLD CENTURY OUT 



273 



law has been not only condoned but justi- 

 fied by the officers entrusted with the en- 

 forcement of the law. in this, such offi- 

 cers have been upheld by an unhealthy, 

 unreasoning public sentiment. Now and 

 then there comes a protest from some per- 

 son who can see that the destruction of the 

 game will deprive Flathead county of one 

 of its greatest attractions, viewed from the 

 standpoint of business or pleasure; but 

 the demand for reform in this respect has 

 been as a voice in the wilderness, or a cry 

 for help on a storm-tossed sea. Members 

 of the League of American Sportsmen 

 have been warned that it would be 

 better for their business if they would 

 take less interest in the enforcement of the 

 game laws; and newspapers have been 

 known to urge an avowed determination 

 of a candidate to enforce such laws as a 

 reason for defeating him at the polls. 



But there is yet hope. Education and 

 time will work changes in public sentiment 

 and the market hunter and the wanton 

 uestroyer of game will be dethroned. 



The darkness was fast gathering around 

 the top of the chilly old mountain when 

 Chris suggested that we stroll toward 

 camp. That spot was 3 miles away. We 

 were soon going down a long incline di- 

 rectly toward camp, but the going was 

 almost as difficult as the climbing we had 

 experienced earlier in the day. The mo- 

 notony of the constant slipping and stum- 

 bling and wild swinging of arms to maintain 

 our balance was broken by an occasional 

 fall that threatened to place one or the 

 other of us temporarily on the retired list. 

 Long before we reached camp we could 

 catch occasional gleams from the camp 

 fire far below us, and after we were once 

 cheered by that sight the walking did not 

 seem half so -bad. When we arrived at 

 camp the black and tan pup which had 

 quietly followed at the heels of his master 

 all day, again took possession of my couch, 

 and by way of introduction I said, 



"Major, here is a countryman of the late 

 lamented Hamlet. Mr. Chris, this is the 

 Major." 



I felt that I ought to make known Chris' 

 nationality, and I found, a few minutes 

 later, as I was returning from the spiing, 

 whither I had gone for a bucket of water, 

 that my judgment was right, for I heard 

 the Major, in tones that proved his open- 

 handed hospitality and generosity, say, 



"Chris, here is some cheese that is hot 

 stuff. It was made in your country, and 

 as the rest of us can get all we want when 

 we go back to town, I want you to eat all 

 of this." 



The next morning the Major was not 

 feeling well, and decided he would take 

 the evening train home. Chris and I de- 

 cided to remain until the end of the season. 



After breakfast Chris and I started for 



a high peak beyond any we had reached 

 the previous day. We made but slow 

 progress through the snow, which was 

 more than knee-deep. Near the top of the 

 peak all signs of deer had disappeared and, 

 save by numerous marten tracks, the snow 

 was undisturbed. It began to look as if 

 we had had our climb for nothing. As we 

 reached the top, however, we experienced 

 a few moments of intense excitement. The 

 snow was cut with fresh tracks, and the 

 buck brush was mutilated and pawed in 

 a way that indicated several large bucks 

 had recently been feeding there. 



We had taken but a few steps, when the 

 little carbine Chris was carrying flew to his 

 shoulder and through the partial screen 

 of buck brush I saw that he was drawing a 

 bead on as fine a buck as ever reared its 

 lordly head on that old mountain. The 

 buck was a corker and, as he stood 

 there, his head thrown back, his nostrils 

 inflated, sniffing the air, uncertain whether 

 danger threatened or not, I knew that a 

 metal patched bullet projected by 40 

 grains of high pressure nitro powder would 

 soon end his career. Slowly the muzzle 

 of the carbine in the hands of the steady 

 nerved Dane was elevated, steadily it 

 poised a second and then followed the 

 quick, sharp crack peculiar to smokeless 

 powder. There was a mad plunge for- 

 ward, and that grand old monarch of the 

 mountains went to his knees, but in an in- 

 stant he was on his feet again and plunged 

 madly down the mountain side. 



Then commenced a wild scramble, up 

 hill and down, the buck in the lead, the 

 Dane a good second. Five times did that 

 little carbine speak and 5 metal patched 

 bullets passed through the body of the 

 buck, each apparently in a vital place, be- 

 fore the old fellow surrendered. During 

 the scramble I lost all track of the partici- 

 pants and was pursuing my way along the 

 ridge when I finally received a hail from 

 Chris, who was in the bottom of the canyon 

 trying to snake the deer along by the horns. 

 With difficulty I made my way down to 

 where he was and relieved him of his car- 

 bine while he continued to drag the buck 

 toward camp. Arriving in the vicinity of 

 a deserted cabin, we concluded that as dark- 

 ness was rapidly coming on we would leave 

 the deer on the trail and proceed to camp. 

 Coyotes were numerous in the neighbor- 

 hood, and as a sort of scarecrow to keep 

 them away from the deer, I spread a hand- 

 kerchief over the carcass and left it for the 

 night. 



After supper, as Chris puffed at his pipe 

 and I was enjoying one of my few remain- 

 ing cigars, we discussed ways and means of 

 circumventing the foxy mowich on the 

 morrow, the last day of the season. 1 

 finally suggested that we take a pair of blan- 

 kets each, and enough food for breakfast 



