Nov. 23, 1895.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



443 



ON THE WHITE RIVER PLATEAU. 



It is hard at any time for a sportsman to be chained 

 to business, and doubly so when his friends are returning, 

 one after another, from successful fishing trips, and giv- 

 ing glowing accounts of the sport they have had. So one 

 Saturday, when I could no longer withstand the tempta- 

 tion, I packed my sleeping bag, sheet of canvas, rifle and 

 two days' rations on Brownie, a handsome little pony, 

 with a neck and shoulders that Bucephalus might have 

 envied, and mounted on Sammy, a veteran cow horse and 

 hunter, started for the high mesa that forms the divide 

 between Grand and White rivers in northern Colorado. 



My armament consisted of a .45-90 Winchester rifle 

 with half octagon barrel, half magazine, pistol grip and 

 shotgun butt, sighted with Lyman combination front and 

 wind gauge rear sights. This makes an ideal weapon for 

 quick shooting at large game. The half octagon barrel 

 and half magazine give a perfect balance to the arm, 

 while the shotgun butt permits of rapidly throwing the 

 rifle to the shoulder. 



I believe that the Lyman rear sight, above mentioned, 

 is not nearly so well known as it deserves to be. Every 

 time the aperture is raised one division a spring engages 

 in a notch, and one can tell by the number of times the 

 sleeve hesitates in turning how many divisions the sight 

 has been raised or lowered without looking at it. My 

 cartridges were loaded with 80grs. of powder and 405gr. 

 bullets, which I imagine give better results than the light 

 300gr. ones. As an auxiliary I carried a Stevens skeleton 

 stock rifle, .25cal., 12in. barrel, in a holster hung from 

 my cartridge belt. These are excellent little arms for 

 grouse, etc., where the report of a heavy arm would be 

 liable to frighten large game. The .25cal. is unnecessa- 

 rily large for such a purpose, and a .22 would be just as 

 effective and far less noisy. It was my intention to pro- 

 ceed directly to Joe Hill's cabin on the edge of the mesa, 

 and get him to come along with me. Joe is an old resi- 

 dent of this section, and at present is developing a gold 

 claim. Besides being jolly good company, a keen sports- 

 man and thoroughly acquainted with the country, he is 

 an excellent cook, and for all these reasons it was especially 

 desirable to secure his co-ooeration. 



The road from New Castle leads along the valley of Elk 

 Creek for about 4£ miles, then turns up Middle Elk past 

 Pierson's ranch for about 4 miles, where a trail branches 

 off to the right up a side cafion and after ascending about 

 2,000ft. vertically turns to the left and follows a steep 

 branch cafion up 500ft. more to the edge of the mesa, 

 about 8,500ft. above sea level. 



It was nearly noon when I reached Joe's cabin, and to 

 my intense disappointment Joe was away. There was a 

 large notice conspicuously placed on a bundle covered with 

 gunny sacks which read "Giant Powder." Knowing my 

 aversion to having mice running over my face at night 

 and a little predilection I have for taking a shot at any 

 that make their appearance during daytime, Joe had 

 thoughtfully taken this precaution against a possible dis- 



aster, for a bullet fired into that bundle would— well, it 

 would cost quite a little time and money to repair the 

 damage; to say nothing of the loss to a certain life insur- 

 ance company. On the other door was tacked another 

 notice which read, "Will be back soon. Wait, Joe." 

 As I frequently spent Saturday nights and Sundays with 

 Joe he partially expected me, and as usual had left the 

 key where I could find it; so I went in, cooked some dinner 

 and impatiently waited for the proprietor to return. Three 

 o'clock came, but no signs of Joe, so I reluctantly decided 

 to push on to an unused hunter's cabin seven miles back 

 known as the Five Mile. Leaving a note to inform Joe 

 of my whereabouts, I started out and reached the cabin 

 just at sunset, having knocked over a couple of grouse. 



By the time the horses were picketed, a supply of wood 

 gathered and supper cooked, it was nearly dark, and the 

 cold frosty air at this altitude (about 10,000ft.) made one 

 thankful for a comfortable cabin instead of a bivonac 

 under a spruce tree. 



At daybreak next morning I was astir, and without 

 waiting to eat beakfast started out. To my intense dis- 

 gust I found that Brownie had broken loose during the 

 night and was nowhere to be seen. Feeling certain that I 

 could find him later, I commenced the ascent of a ridge, 

 and after about half a mile of climbing came in sight of 

 a doe standing in the edge of some spruce timber. In the 

 dim light she looked over 150yds. away, so hastily raising 

 the sight to 200yds. I fired at her breast, knowing that if 

 the distance were less than I had sighted for the bullet 

 would strike the neck, which it did, about lOin. above the 

 spot aimed at. The distance was only 125yds. Hastily I 

 gashed her throat, and dragged the head down hill in order 

 to allow the blood to flow more freely, then started out 

 across another ridge. Soon a fine buck bounded through 

 an opening in the timber, but did not afford a shot. By 

 this time the sun was peeping over the hills, and knowing 

 from past experience that no more deer would be seen 

 that day, I returned to the cabin, saddled Sammy and 

 started for my doe. 



It was a short job to dress and pack the carcass on the 

 saddle, and after depositing it at the cabin I started to look 

 for Brownie. For about 300yds. his trail could be fol- 

 lowed, then all traces vanished, and a wide circle failed 

 to show in what direction he had gone. I was quite cer- 

 tain, however, that he was with a bunch of horses which 

 were grazing in the vicinity; so returning to camp I 

 packed the deer, blankets, pack saddle, etc., on Sammy, 

 and walked the seven miles back to Joe's. 



Still his cabin was empty, and the presence of the note 

 I had left and the dishes that I had used, but hadn't 

 washed, showed that he had not returned during my ab- 

 sence. Knowing that it would be impossible to catch 

 Brownie alone if he had got with the bunch of horses, I 

 decided to leave my outfit and go down to Sam Harris's 

 ranch in Elk Creek Cafion, where I was pretty certain of 

 finding Joe; so after eating the last of my bread I started 

 down the trail, and in an hour and a half was at Sam's 

 and found the house empty. It was evident that some 



THE STILL-HUNTER. 

 Drawing by J. B. Buinham from" amateur photo by A. Ames Howle'tt" 



one would be home before supper time, so I patiently 

 waited, and about 4 o'clock in came Master Andrew, Sam's 

 son, with a fine string of trout. 



Joe had come down Friday for his mail, thinking it was 

 Saturday, and on finding his mistake had stayed over and 

 gone into town with Sam. They both returned about sun- 

 set, and after explaining the situation it was decided to 

 spend the night at Sam's and start out to hunt for the 

 pony in the morning. Joe was fortunately riding a horse 

 to which Brownie was very much attached, so we felt sure 

 of getting him without much trouble. 



Next morning Joe, Andrew and myself started for the 

 mesa, and after stopping at the cabin and cooking some 

 biscuits and venison, we again took up the trail. After 

 we had traveled about three miles a flock of grouse started 

 up and scattered among: the quaking asp. Master Andrew 

 killed one with his .25 Winchester single shot, but for the 

 life of me I could not locate a single bird. 



A mile further on we found Brownie gayly disporting 

 himself among a bunch of his former companions, but 

 neither the presence of his old chum nor the tempting 

 bits of salt which we held out had any attraction for him. 

 The only thing to be done was to round up the whole 

 bunch and drive them into an old corral that was close at 

 hand. This was done without much difficulty and Mr. 

 Brownie was secured, i. e., he was haltered; but when 

 the other horses were turned loose -be was not subdued 

 until he had dragged me about 50ft. In order to be 

 avenged we put the heaviest pack on him and snubbed 

 him to the horn of Sammy's saddle, after which a meeker 

 and more submissive animal could not be found. Just as 

 we got nicely started again a heavy rain and hailstorm 

 came up. For a while we waited under the shelter of some 

 spruce trees, but as we were certain of a comfortable 

 cabin and dry beds we continued on in the storm, and by 

 4 o'clock were sitting before a brisk fire preparing a good 

 meal of venison, pork, bread and butter and coffee. Un- 

 fortunately I do not care for coffee without milk, and for 

 once I managed to get some, although miles from any 

 cattle. The mare that Andrew rode had lately been 

 separated from her colt and was still giving milk, so we 

 milked her and could not detect any difference from the 

 bovine article. 



Before retiring I tried to impress upon my companions 

 the advisability of starting out in the morning as soon as 

 there should be sufficient light to see, but Joe was too old 

 a veteran to fool around in the frosty grass when he had 

 a comfortable bed to sleep in, and Andrew was too sound 

 a sleeper, so when the stars grew dim and dimmer and 

 finally faded from sight I arose and started out alone. 

 How cold it seemed to a person just up from the valley 

 where there was summer temperature! and for a moment 

 I was tempted to wait and make a cup of coffee; but 

 remembering how shy the deer were and how soon they 

 retired to the heavy timber after sunrise, I shoved my 

 hands deeper into my pockets and started for the ridge 

 where I had killed the doe the day before. 



With the utmost caution I worked through the timber, 

 carefully scrutinizing every opening from behind trees, 

 but although fresh tracks were numerous not a deer was 

 to be seen. 



After a while I arrived at the edge of the canon of Mid- 

 dle Elk Creek, about 1,000ft. deep, and an irresistible curi- 

 osity seized me to explore its depths — there were such 

 likely looking retreats down there for bears and elk. It 

 did not take long to get down and across the creek, and 

 there I beheld the loveliest park I have ever seen. The 

 cafion was quite broad and the bottom on the west side 

 was covered with luxuriant grass and beautifully dotted 

 with large quaking asp. On the east the side of the canon 

 was densely covered with large spruce, while on the west ' 

 the rocky wall rose almost perpendicularly, with an occa- 

 sional gulch down which ran a sparkling stream. 



There were some very large deer and elk tracks in the 

 soft mud near the creek, and before I had gone far up 

 jumped a fawn, and after running about 50yds. stopped 

 and looked around. Now I wanted to shoot that fawn, 

 but did not want to pack the carcass out of a 1,000ft. 

 cafion, so I hesitated. Just then I remembered having 

 been told of a side cafion that was passable for horses, so 

 I decided to kill the fawn with a neat off-hand shot4-*he 

 easiest thing in the world, apparently— but I didn't. The 

 severe tramp during the morning had winded me far more 

 than I realized, while my heart was banging away quite 

 audibly, and try as I would that ivory-tipped front sight 

 would not stay still half a second. In a fit of desperation 

 I let drive anyhow, and away went the fawn, only to stop 

 and look around not more than 75yds. away. Again I 

 tried an off-hand shot, which succeeded in satisfying the 

 fawn's curiosity and it bounded away out of sight un- 

 harmed. 



Then I got mad and said "eheut" or something to that 

 effect, and tried to find some reasonable excuse for miss- 

 ing two such easy shots. Perhaps the sights were not 

 set correctly, but an examination showed that that ex- 

 cuse wouldn't hold. Then I began thinking what a fine 

 shot I would have made if I had only had my heavy 

 barreled single-shot .40-90, and the remembrance of some 

 long shots I had made with it, my favorite arm, some- 

 what soothed my ruffled feelings. . . 



In order to regain my wind so that I could hold 

 steadily, I sat down beside the creek and was soon lost 

 in reveries, from which I was awakened by the appear- 

 ance of two small animals which came bounding along, 

 poking their heads over logs for an instant and then 

 disappearing. A quick shot at one of the heads as it 

 peeped over a log rolled over a fine mink, but before I 

 could get a shot at the second one it had disappeared. 

 The one killed had just been grazed by the bullet below 

 the ear without fracturing the skull, and its skin was 

 scarcely injured. 



By this time the sun was getting pretty well up and 

 my appetite ditto, so I started up the east side of the 

 J cafion and arrived in camp just as the boys were sitting 

 down to breakfast. . 



After a little rest Joe suggested that we should ride 

 down into the cafion where I had been and follow it up 

 to the divide; so we saddled up and started down the 

 Bide cafion before referred to. The old trail was almost 

 entirely obliterated, and the horses occasionally had to 

 do some scrambling to avoid sliding down the steep hill- 

 side. We reached the bottom about half a mile below 

 the spot where I had climbed out, and as the sun was 

 well up the grouse were out at the edge of the timber 

 feeding. Andrew and I had good sport with them and 

 soon filled our game bags, after which we tied them on 

 our saddles until we must have presented a very pictur- 



