326 



RECREATION 



When examining the trail of this mysteri- 

 ous maiden, I suddenly realized that in place 

 of moccasin footprints I was following bear 

 tracks; my heart ceased to beat for a mo- 

 ment or two before I could pull my nine- 

 teenth century self together and smother 

 the prehensile-footed, superstitious old 

 savage in me with the practical philosophy 

 of the up-to-date man of to-day. 



Taking a short-cut, I ran back to the 

 foot of the pass, and there on hands and 

 knees ascended for a hundred feet or more — 

 the bear tracks led up the twin flower pass. 

 But there were also traces of footsteps going 

 down the pass, and these feet wore mocca- 

 sins. This I knew, because at one place the 

 footmark showed plainly in the mould 

 which had accumulated upon a projecting 

 bit of stone a few feet below the ledge. Big 

 Pete was right, she had entered and left by 

 this pass, and I had been too blind to see the 

 tracks unti_ I had concentrated the force of 

 all my mind upon unraveling the mystery. 

 Returning to camp I sat down on a log, lost 

 in thought. My reverie was at length 

 broken by the voice of my guide quietly 

 remarking, "Wall, Le-Loo, what do you 

 think of witches now?" 



I had made no elaborate efforts to con- 

 ceal my movements from my companion, 

 still I was startled to discover that he evi- 

 dently not only knew what I had been inves- 

 tigating, but also what the nature of my dis- 

 coveries. 



"Pete," I answered, "that she-bear walks 

 on its hind legs; there is not the sign of a 

 forefoot anywhere along the trail. Now, 

 this could not be caused by the hind feet 

 obliterating the tracks of the front feet, be- 

 cause in many places the pass is so steep 

 that the forefeet, in reaching out for sup- 

 port, would make tracks not to be over- 

 lapped by the hind ones." 



"That's true, Le-Loo; sartin true. If 

 you live a hundred years you'll make as good 

 a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of New 

 Mexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old friend, 

 Bill Hassler, who could follow a six-month- 

 old trail," replied my guide. "But," he 

 continued, "maybe witch bars do walk on 

 their hind legs, same as people." 



"Witch be bloomed!" I cried, impa- 

 tiently; "she is no four-legged witch nor 

 bear, either; good-bye, I'm going to find 



that girl if I die on the mountains." And 

 picking up my gun and other necessary 

 traps, I prepared to start immediately on 

 the journey. 



Big Pete looked at me solemnly for 

 awhile, ran over the cartridges in his belt and 

 went through all those familiar, unconscious 

 motions which betokened danger ahead, 

 and said, "Le-Loo, you are a quare critter; 

 you are not afeared of all the devils in hell, 

 but tarnally feared of live varmints like 

 grizzly bars— one would think you had no 

 religion. But, gosh all hemlock! If you 

 can face bar wimmen and- wehrwolves, 

 even though all the Hy-as Ecutocks of the 

 mountains show fight, I'll be cornfed if I 

 don 't stand by ye ! Barring the Wild Hunter 

 and this gal, don't know as I ever ran agin a 

 Ecutock yit; that is, if they be Ecutocks — 

 maybe they be econes ? Yes, I reckon that's 

 what they be," continued Pete, reflectively. 



"Maybe they are pine cones; whatever 

 they are, they both know the way out of this 

 park of yours, and I'm going to follow 

 them," I emphatically answered. 



"That's howsomever!" exclaimed my 

 guide, approvingly; "but," he continued, 

 "the mountains air kivered with snow, 

 while it is still summer weather down here, 

 so I reckon t'would be the proper wrinkle 

 for us to pull our things together, have a 

 good feed and a sleep afore we start. • We 

 can cache most of our stuff and turn the 

 horses loose. Bighorn's mutton is powerful 

 good, but tarnally shy and hung mighty 

 high, an' goat is doggoned strong 'nless ye 

 are mighty hungry. Yes, we'll eat an'- sleep 

 fust an' then hie for the land whar the 

 Bighorn pasture, the woolly white goats 

 sleep on the rocks, the whistling marmot 

 blows his danger signal an' the purty white 

 ptarmigan dusts hisself in the snow bank 

 — the home of the Ecutocks ." 



"What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?" 

 I asked. 



"An Injun devil, I reckon you'd call it; 

 it's bad medicine," he answered, soberly, 

 and continuing in his former strain, he ex- 

 claimed, "Wha' critters like goats, sheeps 

 and rock-chucks kin live, you bet your 

 hy-as muck-a-muck, we kin live, too!" 



While Big Pete was talking, I was dimly 

 conscious of a most agreeable odor, which it 

 was now evident emanated from a simmer- 



