62 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 14, 1889, 



he ^ortBtt\Htt %ouri%L 



A MONTH IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 



1 ' V,!/ HY spend your vacation loitering about the piazza 

 ▼ * of some suinrner resort hotel, probably not fifty 

 miles from the place where for fifty weeks in the year 

 you do your regular work, tiring yourself out planning 

 what to do next, and working yourself into a fine frenzy 

 by making and listening to remarks about the hot weather, 

 rendered ten degrees hotter at least by your anxiety about 

 it? Better stay at home and attend to your business. 

 When I get a month's leisure ahead, I intend to put my- 

 self into a new climate, with all my siu'roundings, mode 

 of living, and habits as regards food, raiment and shelter, 

 as different as possible from that of every-day life at 

 home. What a country man needs is a visit to the city, 

 but what a city man needs is a trip to the country, and 

 when 1 go it shall be to the remotest part of Uncle Sam's 

 dominions, as far from railroads and civilization as it is 

 possible to get; in fact, in the most distant part of the 

 Rocky Mountains. If there is one part more distant and 

 isolated than another, there I expect to pitch my tent: if 

 there is a place where the elk and the grizzly and the big- 

 horn can be found at home, there I intend to visit them; 

 in short, if there is a spot within the limits of the United 

 States where the foot of white man has never and Indian 

 seldom trod, there is where I shall set my foot." 



This is a sample of an annual speech which, with slight 

 variations, the writer has made for about eight summers 

 when the subject of vacations came up for discussion. 

 My remarks Avere usually received with favor as to the 

 ideas expressed, but with more or less doubt as to whether 

 they would ever be earned out, and with still more doubt 

 as to the practical results in the capture of any of the 

 aforesaid animals. 



At last, however, my time had come. A month's leis- 

 ure ahead — the month of September— with the certain 

 prospect of spending it in the Rocky Mountains. It was 

 a time of high anticipations. My friend Joe Moore, who 

 had left a year before to engage in sheep raising in Wyo- 

 ming Territory, had furnished encouraging accounts of 

 the abundance of game and fish, and of the beauties and 

 healthfulness of camp life. I had obtained everything 

 needful in the way of hunting and camping outfit, and 

 many things not absolutely necessary as later experience 

 proved , and on the first day of September was ready for 

 the start. 



The first thing to be considered in a hunter's outfit is 

 his rifle. Mine was a .40-60 Marlin, half magazine, pistol 

 grip, handsome, checked rifle stock. It hail been made 

 to order and was a thing of beauty, this last quality, how- 

 ever, not essential on the plains. Its weight was about 

 71bs., and with a sling strap for convenience in carrying, 

 there never was a more convenient and effective weapon 

 of its size. Of course a heavier barrel might on occa- 

 sions be held steadier, and be subject to less shock and 

 consequent variation of the ball on account of recoil, and 

 by a hunter willing to can y the extra weight, might be 

 preferred, but the .40cal. ball, driven by 62grs. of pow- 

 der, is large enough for all game under ordinary circum- 

 stances, and, unless the hunter is gifted with unusual 

 powers of endurance, 71bs. will be found quite heavy 

 enough toward the afternoon of a long day's tramp, in a 

 country too rough to travel on horseback, and when added 

 to the weight of the other necessary accoutrements of 

 cartridges, revolver, hunting knife, etc. And here let 

 me add my testimony to that of the majority of hunters 

 whom I met in the Rocky Mountains, that there is no 

 hunting rifle yet made that is equal to the Marlin. I 

 could use in mine either the express solid head or patched 

 ball with equal facility through the magazine, although 

 it is better to use but one kind of ball, as the different 

 kinds will vary somewhat in their flight, and the sports- 

 man had better accustom himself to the use of one. 



But I could not be content on so grand a trio as I had 

 before me with carrying a rifle alone. My "respected 

 uncle, a veteran deer hunter of western New York, had 

 suggested to me that I was not going to the Rocky 

 Mountains to shoot birds, could do that at home, and 

 better not be encumbered with a shotgun. 'You can't 

 cany both at once, and when you want one, you are sure 

 to have the other." But I urged that while the rifle was 

 certainly the proper weapon for the expert woodsman on 

 the large game I expected to meet, still I might not 

 always find the large game, and that a shotgun in a 

 country where one is dependent on his gun for his meat, 

 might be the more useful weapon in the hands of a 

 hungry amateur, and so it happened, for on one or two 

 occasions our camp would have had less for supper and 

 breakfast had it not been for my shotgun. And now a 

 word in description of my shotgun. Like the rifle, it was 

 a beauty — a Baker three-barreled gun. This gun has a 

 rifle under the two shot barrels, and is so arranged as 

 regards its use that the rifle addB very little weight, and 

 nothing to interfere with the independent use of the shot 

 barrels. As a shotgun it is as good as the best, and as a 

 rifle it is accurate enough for ordinary hunting purposes 

 at short or medium range. It takes the old Winchester 

 .44-40 cartridge, which has probably killed more large 

 game in the West than any other. I had the right hand 

 shot barrel bored out to a cylinder and was prepared 

 with solid balls to fit, and with the variety of cartridges 

 that could be used in this gun, I was prepared to bring 

 down a hummingbird without injuring its skin for the 

 taxidermist, or to slay the grizzlies if they should swarm 

 around me. Along with this gain, as with the Marlin, I 

 had a set of loading implements, and a stock of powder, 

 lead, etc., much larger than necessary, as the greater 

 part of it was given away to hunters and Indians to save 

 bringing it home, after being carried around by every 

 means of conveyance known on the frontier. To the 

 above armanent I added a.44cal., llin. Colt's revolver 

 and a good, strong hunting knife. The knife and belt 

 proved useful articles, but the revolver was of no use 

 whatever, was very heavy to carry, and after the first 

 few days was left in the tent, and its place filled with a 

 hatchet, a much more useful implement. It is not to be 

 denied that a good revolver is often a convenience on the 

 plains and in the mountains, and a smaller and lighter 

 one might be well enough to carry on a hunt. For cow- 

 boys and ranchmen, who cannot conveniently carry a 

 rifle, the large Colt's revolver is the very thing; they are 

 nearly as effective as a rifle at short range when large 

 game is accidentally met with. 



From any modern hunter's outfit should never be 



omitted the camera. A small light affair can be had 

 for a few dollars, and the field manupulation of it can 

 be learned in as many minutes. The hunter is not ex- 

 pected to be an artist, but he wishes to bring home re- 

 membrances of camp views, and the scenes of his ex- 

 ploits in the wild region he may never visit again, and 

 then, better than all— the camera never lies* 



And now, by way of explanation and Warning to the 

 reader, let me say that hunting in real hunter's life does 

 not always mean killing^ and if the reader hankers after 

 hair-breadth escapes and blood-curdling encounters he had 

 better throw aside this paper and save himself the dis- 

 appointmenti but, gentle and indulgent reader, if you 

 will be interested in a faithful record of the little inci- 

 dents of a hunting trip such as one might meet with 

 in the best hunting grounds now left within the bound- 

 aries of the United States, a truthful recital of its hard- 

 ships and its pleasures, its good and bad luck, its hits 

 and misses, and if you are willing to indulge the writer 

 in his observations upoa the natural history of the region 

 visited— its animals and birds so far as we met with them, 

 the climate, the scenery and the people, then— come 

 along. Our "way back" ancestors were hunters from 

 necessity, and although the long lapse of intervening 

 civilization has superseded the necessity or desirability 

 of getting a living by the chase, there still remains in 

 most of us a vestige of the blood-thirsty instinct, tem- 

 pered it may be and ennobled by a love of nature and a 

 desire to escape the drudgery of business for a while and 

 get into the woods again, yet we all feel the fascination 

 of being "in at the death,'' and often, alas, whether the 

 game be large or small. 



On the morning of Sept. 6 I arrived at Rawlins. Wyo., 

 and remained over one day to make some final prepara- 

 tions. I cannot refrain from mentioning the courteous 

 treatment and many favors here received from the Rev. 

 Dr. Huntington, of the Episcopal Church, and his enter- 

 taining family, both at this time and later on my return 

 home. 



The next morning came bright and sunny, as in fact 

 nearly every morning does, for it seldom' rains here. 

 The cool dry atmosphere of this elevated region— 6,000ft. 

 above the sea— has a wonderfully beneficial effect on one 

 from a southern climate, and I already feel the good 

 effects of it very decidedly. My enthusiasm takes a new 

 start at the sight of "antelope steak," printed on the bill 

 of fare at the hotel. Here is conclusive evidence that 

 there are antelope at least somewhere in the country, and 

 if any ohe can find an antelope we can. Our course 

 from here lies due north. Our vehicle is a heavy com- 

 pact structure of the Western stage coach type, well built 

 and intended to stand long and hard service. I climb up 

 on the outside and take a seat with the driver. We have 

 four splendid high-spirited horses, and with the light 

 load, for there is only one passenger besides myself* they 

 start out at a good fast gait, which is quite encouraging 

 when we t hink of the one hundred miles of this kind of 

 travel before us. We are soon beyond the sight of houses, 

 and spinning along over the smooth sandy road. To an 

 Eastern eye the landscape is new, strange and interesting. 

 What impresses one first is the utter unproductiveness of 

 the country. We are on the borders of what is known as 

 the Great American Desert, and for miles and miles in 

 every direction stretches a vast sandy treeless plain. 

 Toward the middle of the day as we get further north 

 the country becomes more uneven and broken. Fifty 

 miles to the west we can see the outlines of Elk Mountain , 

 covered with dark green pines, and here and there abrupt 

 rock ridges break the even circle of the horizon. 



We seldom meet a vehicle or traveler, and pass no 

 houses except the little log huts where we stop to change 

 horses, twenty miles apart. The country is practically 

 uninhabited and uninhabitable, and to an Eastern eye 

 presents a scene of ut ter lonesomenesa, even desolation. 

 A hawk is occasionally seen circling in the air, a prairie 

 dog may dodge into his burrow at the approach of the 

 stage, or a number of little prairie birds, somewhat in 

 appearance like our English sparrows, may flit out of our 

 way, but aside from these all is barren and lifeless. 

 There is not a tree in sight. Some thin blades of dry 

 parched grass seem to be trying hard to exist among the 

 drifting sand, and a stunted yellow-blossomed weed, with 

 the ever-present cactus, constitute about the only plant 

 life, except the sage bush. The sage bush is the only 

 thing that makes anything like a show of flourishing. 

 This is found everywhere, the most abundant growth hi 

 all the country. Clear up to the foot of the Rocky Moun- 

 tains the great plains are covered with it. The plant is 

 very much in appearance like the common garden sage, 

 except that it is much larger, spreading out on good laud 

 to several feet in circuit and four or five feet high. Its 

 large bunches of roots, lying on top of the ground, form 

 the only impediment to driving a buggy anywhere on the 

 plains. It is said that sheep and cattle will browse upon 

 the sage plant when deep snows prevent them from get- 

 ting to the grass. The herders make use of the root for 

 fuel when camped away from timber, but its most useful 

 office is to retain the snow during the strong winter winds 

 and hold it for irrigation in the spring. We pass a num- 

 ber of prairie dog villages, and hundreds of the little 

 varmint are running about from one burrow to another, 

 or sitting up on their haunches, giving the appearance at a 

 little distance of so many posts stuck in the ground. They 

 seem to increase and multiply where no other animal 

 could possibly live, and iH fact to thrive best in the sand- 

 hill country, where even the sage bush looks sickly and 

 discouraged. What they eat and especially what they 

 drink is past my finding out. Their skins are of no value 

 and their flesh is not eaten by a dog. 



Our driver, a typical Western stage driver, a hero no 

 doubt in his way, managed his four horses with excellent 

 skill. He assumed a sullen, independent air, like many 

 Western characters I met. He was disinclined to talk, 

 and seemed to regard my rmestions about the country, the 

 game, etc., as evidence of weakness or curiosity on my 

 part scarcely worth his while to gratify. He gave strict 

 attention to the business in hand — I might say the four- 

 in-hand — seldom looking either way ; in fact, he seemed 

 to wish to convey to me the idea that the driving of the 

 four horses required every exertion of mind and muscle, 

 and that he could not be annoyed by any small outside 

 matters. But I do not want to say" anything in dispar- 

 agement of the stage driver; he has certainly acted an 

 important part in the development of the West, and a 

 difficult part it has been. Those I met seemed faithful 

 and competent, if they were unsociable. Everybody here 

 seems to trust them. The stage company does an express 



and money order business, and it is usual to have valu- 

 able mail and packages aboard. His surly, swaggering 

 manner, together with bis big Colt's swung to his belt 

 and another one usually in a convenient place on the box, 

 somehow give one an impression that he would be a good 

 man to have around in case of art attack. 



The wind, an ever-present factor on the plains, blew 

 to-day steadily from the west, and the cloud of dust we 

 raised was drifted to one side: but when the wind "fol- 

 lows," that is, blows in the same direction the stage is 

 going, it becomes uncomfortable, the strong alkali in the 

 soil filling the nose, mouth and eyes. The pursuit of 

 game, of course, being uppermost in my thoughts, and 

 recollecting the antelope steak for breakfast, I inquire 

 of the driver whether he ever sees any when passing 

 through the country, and he replies that he sees them 

 often, and glances around to a level stretch of prairie on 

 the right, remarking that the vicinity is a good place for 

 them. At this remark I suggest that perhaps I had bet- 

 ter get my rifle ready, but his sarcastic smile leads me to 

 think that he does not consider my chances very good for 

 shooting antelope from the stage. 



In summer the sun pours down upon these gray sandy 

 plains, destitute of verdure to allay its fierceness, hotter 

 than upon any Southern plantation, and in winter the 

 wind and cold are actually cruel. Just one month late)', 

 on Oct. H, I came over this same road, and, although t 

 was dressed warmly as possible in woolens and furs, it; 

 took lively kicking inside the stage to keep from freezing. 

 How the driver managed to exist on the outside, exposed 

 to a gale that threatened to overturn the stage, with the 

 snow drifting from one to two feet in depth, leaving no 

 traces of the road, I cannot understand. This was in 

 October. What must it be in January? I can think of no 

 occupation that imposes a severer test of a man's endur- 

 ance than that of a stage driver on the night run from 

 Rawlins north, in winter. 



We had seen no signs of game all day. but just at sun- 

 down, as we approached a little way station where the 

 stage stops to change horses, a flock of five or six sage hens 

 started out from nearly under the horses' feet, They were 

 great large birdSi nearly the size of common turkeys and 

 about as tame; I made an excited grab for niy three- 

 barrel, but the driver interfered by saying that the 

 firing would frighten the horses, and so the first game 

 was allowed to walk off unharmed. And this reminds me 

 that we have been a good while getting this far on our 

 hunting trip and nothing killed yet. Be patient, kind 

 reader, a while longer. 



At one place where we stopped to change horses, a 

 little incident occurred which might be mentioned as 

 illustrative of the "manners and customs" of this section. 

 This station consisted of one log shanty that did service 

 both as house and barn. That is to say one end of the 

 stable was devoted to housekeeping by the man who had 

 care of the horses. For some time all the refuse from 

 the stable, straw, sawdust, manure, etc.. had been thrown 

 in a heap just outside the door on the west side. By 

 some means or other fire had got into and through this 

 heap of rubbish. It Avould not blaze, but the smoke it 

 sent out was simply immense, and a good strong, steady 

 western wind sent the dense ill-smelling smudge through 

 house and barn, literally smoking out horses and man. 

 The man, a fat old Dutchman, had been hard at work all 

 the morning carrying water from the little feeble spring 

 in a vain effort to put out the Are, or rather to stop the 

 smoke. Now, we must and do obey the command to 

 "swear not at all," but in all deference, be it said that 

 there are times when, places where, and circumstances 

 under which, thoughts and feelings come to us which 

 tempt expression m "cuss words." As we halted in 

 front of the stable we could hear a mumbling of mut- 

 tered oaths coming out from the volume of smoke. The 

 sounds grew louder, and finally out came the waddling 

 form of the old Dutchman, and from his mouth was 

 pouring a stream of profanity that fairly made the air 

 turn blue. We have all heard of the man who could not 

 do justice to the occasion when the tail-board of his 

 wagon load of pumpkins came out on the top of a hill, 

 but here was a case of equal provocation and a man 

 equal to the emergency. I af terward heard a great deal 

 of the "picturesque language of the West." high and low, 

 but I never heard such a variegated jumbling of unmixed 

 cussing, as if every language had been drawn upon for a 

 supply, as the old Dutchman, made use of to give relief to 

 Ms feelings. The imprecations were directed against the 

 person that caused the fire, who of GOtttsewasaut present. 

 He presented such a comical sight as lie waddled out 

 through the smoke with the perspiration running down 

 bis face, his broad-brimmed hat on the back of his head, 

 and the one suspender scarcely sufficient t > support the 

 only other garment besides the woolen shirt, that myself 

 and fellow traveler were overcome by the situation and 

 lay down on a sage bush and laughed. The habit of 

 profanity is universal in this region. Herdsmen, miners, 

 Indians, everybody seem to try to compete with each 

 other in the volume and variety of their vocabulary, It 

 has become a habit in ordinary conversation, when you 

 might say there is no provocation or necessity for em- 

 phatic language even. One hears it at the ranch, around 

 the camp-Gre, in friendly conversation, wherever and 

 whenever men talk, it forms the bulk of their conver- 

 sation. 



After an uncomfortable night in the stage, we arrived 

 at four in the morning at the end of our stage journey. 

 Beaver Crossing. Beaver Crossing, where the stage road 

 crosses Beaver Creek, is a feeding place for man and 

 beast, kept by Frank Coffey, a jolly, good-natured French- 

 man, well-known and popular all over this country. In 

 an "annex" to his ranch house he keeps a good stock of 

 beer, whisky, tobacco and other Western necessities and 

 luxuries, and there are very few in all this region who 

 have not heard his cheery voice inviting to "come up 

 gentlemen and take a drink," and it is scarcely necessary 

 to add that about an equal number have at one time or 

 another availed themselves of the opportunity. As was 

 a frequent custom in this country not many years ago, 

 Mr. Coffey married an Indian woman of the Sioux tribe, 

 and has a large and bright looking family of half -breed 

 children. As we walked up to the ranch house, we were 

 greeted by a lot of Indian dogs, but as they are always 

 harmless, we paid no attention to them , and took seats on 

 the porch. If was yet quite dark. A row of children lay 

 stretched out under blankets on the porch. One or two 

 of them rose up on our approach, fixed their black beady 

 eyes upon us for a moment and then rolled over and 

 went to sleep again. Soon the eldest of the sleepers, a 



