82 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 21, 1889. 



he §^orkn\nn fEourwi 



•'Sam Lovel's Camps.' 1 By It. E. Robinson. Note ready. 



A MONTH IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 



[Continued frmn paye <•'#.] 



MY friend Moore, when 1 last heard from him, was 

 camped on Strawberry Creek, about twenty miles 

 distant,and my anxiety was how to get to his camp with my 

 load of blankets and other baggage. I was assured that 

 probably during the day some opportunity would offer to 

 6end my things in that direction. The opportunity came 

 that afternoon. A herdsman, an old Irishman, whose 

 sheep were in the vicinity of my friend's camp, would 

 be going in that direction in the morning, and I could go 

 along that far with him. So I patiently waited for the 

 next morning to come. The hotel accommodations are 

 not as good at Beaver Crossing as I ha ve seen in the East, 

 but after twenty-two hours continuous shaking up in the 

 stage, I could sleep very well in a blanket on the floor of 

 the annex, or bunk in with the children and dogs on the 

 porch. The bill of fare here is not equal to what can be 

 obtained at Delmonico's or Murray Hill — not by a good 

 deal — in fact, the cooking partook more of the character 

 of the Indian than the French side of the family. How- 

 ever, my hunger and fatigue overcame all other consid- 

 erations, and at an early hour in the evening I spread my 

 blankets by the side of the sheep herders on the annex 

 floor. 



The night was cool and comfortable, and as my eyes 

 opened the next morning upon the dark long-necked 

 bottles displayed about the room, I realized that I was 

 feeling better physically than I had been for months 

 past, and that one object of my trip was a success already. 

 When I was ready to start, the report came that the 

 horses could not be found. One of the most prominent 

 peculiarities of these ponies is that they can never be 

 found when wanted. If there is ever a time when a man, 

 pretending to piety, cannot find words to express him- 

 self, I think it would be in a case like this. Here are all 

 your weeks of anticipation nearly brought to a focus, 

 when your plans suddenly come to a standstill by the 

 straying off of a couple of worthless ponies. Here is 

 plenty of good feed near by, but these good-for-nothing 

 cay uses have to go straying off four or five miles and hide 

 themselves. It is nearly noon before we get off. 



From Beaver Crossing our journey takes a northwest 

 direction, for the first three miles through a narrow val- 

 ley walled in by high perpendicular rock. Emerging 

 from this we come to the ranch house of Mr. Louis Mil- 

 ler. A stream of clear water flows past the house and 

 irrigates some green meadows below. We stop before 

 the house and are invited to dinner. It is said that the 

 greatest blessings often come to us when least expected, 

 and so anyway it happened this time. Looming up above 

 the commonplace events of my month's stay on the 

 frontier, will ever remain the happy memory of that 

 dinner at Louis Miller's. The bread, butter, milk and 

 apple pie that we sat down to, I thought then and think 

 now, were fit for a king. The lady who presided at that 

 table wa 8 neither very young nor remarkably beautiful, 

 but she is a jewel in her way. The floor, table, the 

 house and all the surroundings were as neat and clean as 

 it was possible to make them, and this is all the more 

 notable in a country where cleanliness is not considered 

 much of a virtue; that is to say, that Indians, herders 

 and hunters are not especially noted for their cleanliness, 

 at least I did not see any whom I thought took a bath 

 more than three times a day. 



We continue our journey in much better spirits, the 

 road leading up a long hill.' The sun shines out hotter 

 than I ever felt in the South, and I turn down the broad 

 rim of my cowboy hat to save myself the scorching. I 

 get out my Baker and slip a cartridge into each of the 

 three barrels, as the old man says we are likely to come 

 upon sage hens, but no sage hen or other game appears, 

 although the old man says he always sees them on this 

 road, and only yesterday he saw three antelope on his 

 way down to the valley. We are getting up into a better 

 grazing country now, and see. scattering herds of cattle 

 and horses. This, however, is the sheep herder's country, 

 and although none are in sight, we see their numerous 

 tracks in the sand, and the closely nipped grass that 

 grows in thin scattering bunches between the sage 

 bushes, tells that great bands of sheep have recently 

 passed here. For ten miles or more our road makes a 

 gradual ascent, and we are getting up on the great 

 elevated plains of Wyoming, averaging 7,000ft. above 

 the sea. Our road leads along the crest of a ridge over- 

 looking a vast extent of country. For miles the view is 

 unobstructed. A rough broken territory, divided by 

 rocky ridges, finally merging into a leveler plain in the 

 far south. A long, narrow valley extends down to the 

 left of us, through which the winding course of Beaver 

 Creek is handsomely marked by a thick growth of wil- 

 lows. Its sides are covered by "a dense growth of alter- 

 nate pines and quaking asp, the light yellow and scarlet 

 of the latter, painted by the early frosts, in glowing con- 

 trast with the deep green of the pines, form a coloring to 

 the landscape of surpassing beauty. Down we go into 

 the valley and up on to the plains beyond. From here 

 we get the first sight of the Oregon Buttes, three promi- 

 nent peaks of the Rockies. We come to old Fort Stam- 

 bough, some old log buildings where the Government 

 once stationed soldiers to protect the settlers from In- 

 dians. A few miles further and we come into the 

 vicinity of the old man's camp. It seemed he had left 

 his partner in the morning with the sheep to find a good 

 camping place near a spring in the neighborhood, the 

 exact location of which he did not know, and we had to 

 hunt about some, driving to the high places to try and 

 discover the tent. 



As we were driving along through the sage bushes we 

 discovered a number of sage hens walking leisurely 

 about not far off. The old man said he was about out of 

 mutton, and would be glad to have a few sage hens for 

 supper. I jumped out of the wagon with my three-bar- 

 rel and crept up within easy distance of the flock. They 

 seemed in no great hurry to get away, but were walking 

 about among the bushes. I took, as I thought, a careful 

 aim at one of the birds on the ground, and blazed away. 

 The shot seem to have no effect except to make the bird 

 quicken its pace into a run. The others continued to 

 valk around as if nothing had happened. I fired the left 



barrel at the nearest one, breaking its wing. The old 

 man left his horses and started after the wounded bird, 

 while I followed up the flock that had now taken flight, 

 but had relighted only a few yards away. I determined 

 to make them fly this time before firing, and up they 

 went with a great flapping of wings like turkeys. I 

 banged away at the largest, and as the wind was blowing 

 toward me could hear the sharp spat of the shot against 

 its wings, but without any apparent effect on the bird. 

 Still following them, I finally succeeded in bringing down 

 two in three more shots— three birds with six shots— a 

 pretty bad beginning. The old man looked rather aston- 

 ished, evidently expecting one who had come so far and 

 had such fine guns to do better shooting', while I con- 

 cluded that the sage hen, like the Irishman's squirrel, 

 must be pretty tough. As I found afterward, it takes 

 hard hitting with large shot to kill these birds, and I was 

 shooting with No. 7. 



It was now getting toward night and the weather was 

 quite cold, so that I found overcoat and gloves desirable, 

 notwithstanding the heat in the middle of the day. We 

 at last came in sight of the tent, a mere white spot on the 

 plain. I gladly accepted the old man's invitation to re- 

 main with him over night. After a good supper of sage 

 hens, mutton, biscuits, potatoes and tea, we spread out 

 the blankets under the tent and turned in. It was my 

 first night in a tent. The wind blew furiously, and with 

 the constant flapping of the canvas and the old man's 

 snores, I succeeded in getting a few hours' sleep. 



We were up the next morning at daylight. The air 

 w T as cold and clear. Some water left in a vessel outside 

 the tent was frozen over with a thin coat of ice, and the 

 ground was white with frost. The old shepherd told me 

 that water had frozen in his tent every night during the 

 summer except two, and yet in the middle of the day the 

 sun shines scorching hot. The old idea that we were 

 taught in the geography about the "slanting rays of the 

 sun" at the north producing less heat, is in need of re- 

 vision. I doubt if the sun's heat is greater at the equator 

 than north of the forty-fifthparallel. 



Our breakfast is a duplicate of the supper last night, 

 for a herder's larder admits of but little variety. The old 

 man wanders off with his sheep, while his partner, a lad 

 of twenty, undertakes to pilot me to my friend's camp, 

 which is supposed to be somewhere in the neighborhood. 

 We start out afoot, leaving my baggage to be brought on 

 afterward. I carry my three-barrel and my companion 

 takes his Colt's revolver, the only weapon the camp 

 affords. We don't go far before up 'jumps a jack rabbit, 

 followed closrly by a little yelping shepherd dog that 

 came along with us. The rabbit starts off apparently on 

 three legs, giving a novice the idea that the fourth is dis- 

 abled. It is not, however, as I quickly learn, but is only 

 a way the animal has of showing what it can do on three 

 legs, and its contempt for the dog. When the jack rab- 

 bit thinks there is any necessity for being in a hurry 

 down goes the other foot, and then— all that is left in 

 that immediate vicinity is a few waving sage bushes and 

 a streak of flying sand. Before I could get my gun ready 

 the rabbit was out of the reach of shot, and I "turned 

 loose" at him with the rifle barrel. The bullet struck the 

 ground directly under the rabbit and raised the dust all 

 around him. The way in which that animal "got up and 

 got," was something wonderful to behold. He put down 

 that other leg in a hurry, and the distance he put between 

 us in the next half minute prevented all hopes of getting 

 another chance at him during the day. We saw a 

 number of sage hens, but as we had no use for them al- 

 lowed them to walk off unharmed. 



It was here that I first sa w an antelope. My companion 

 pointed it out to me a long distance off, and I only caught 

 sight of it as it took a few light bounds and disappeared 

 over a swell of ground. It must have been fully a mile 

 away. After a while we met some sheep herders with 

 their horses and wagons moving their camp equipage to 

 new feeding grounds. Finding they knew where my 

 friend was camped I proposed to join them, and as they 

 were very willing, I bade good-by to my young friend, to 

 whose kindness I was greatly indebted, and climbed up 

 into the wagon. After a drive of four or five miles we 

 came to the spot selected for the camp. Here at last I 

 found my friend Joe Moore, who, hearing I was in the 

 neighborhood, had come here to look for me. We all 

 took supper together, and later in the evening walked 

 over with him to his camp on Strawberry Creek, about a 

 mile away. He and his partner had two tents, side by 

 side, one for cooking and eating in, and the other for 

 sleeping. They were designated as kitchen and parlor. 

 A bright fire of pine branches blazed in front of the tent, 

 and some visiting herdsmen from the neighborhood came 

 in , and we all sat down on the ground in the parlor and 

 talked. 



The prospects for game in the vicinity were somewhat 

 discouraging. Game was not very plenty in the neigh- 

 borhood, but up on the Big Horn Mountains, or on the 

 headwaters of Sandy River, seventy miles northwest, in 

 the vicinity of Fremont's Peak, they had heard the 

 "woods was full of 'em," I have always found that the 

 game becomes scarcer as we get near the hunting ground. 

 All along the road I had heard of immense numbers of 

 antelope in this country, but now they seem to have 

 suddenly disappeared. The antelope is a semi-migratory 

 animal. During the summer they are scattered about 

 singly or in companies of two and three and remain 

 quietly in some sheltered locality; but toward fall when 

 the young are well grown they gather in small bands of 

 fifteen or twenty, and as the cold weather increases these 

 unite, forming herds often reaching into the hundreds, 

 and for greater protection seek the broadest plains, for 

 the antelope never depends upon covert for safety, but 

 solely upon its ability to keep its enemies at a long dis- 

 tance. These large herds may loiter in the same vicinity 

 for a week or more — the time depending upon how much 

 they are hunted, for there is feed enough anywhere for 

 an antelope — and then all of a sudden may put themselves 

 a hundred, miles away, so that however abundant they 

 may be in any given locality to-day, they may disappear 

 to morrow, nobody knows where. 



"If you had only been here last week," said one of the 

 party, '-you could have killed all the. antelope you wanted 

 from our tent door, as thev came down every morning to 

 the spring to drink." "If it were only a month later," 

 said another, "when the cold weather drives the deer 

 down from the mountains, you could get plenty of them." 

 And so it usually happens. 'There is a scarcity right here, 

 but just ahead, "(he woods are full of them." One of the 

 party related how a cinnamon bear had attacked a herder 



during the last summer near the very spot where we were 

 then encamped. It happened that the herder was out 

 with a small shotgun hunting for sage chickens, and 

 creeping through the willows that grow very thick along 

 Strawberry Creek, he came unawares upon an old bear 

 with her cubs. The old bear immediately made for the 

 man, who was unable to get out of her way and was 

 afraid to use his shotgun for fear of wounding the bear 

 and making matters worse. Bruin got up on her 

 haunches, in the regulation bear style, and came at the 

 oor herder with open mouth and claws sawing the air. 

 he herder defended himself the best he could by placing 

 his shotgun crossways in the bear's mouth, and in that 

 way held her off until fortunately his dog came up and 

 attracted the bear in another direction. This allowed the 

 man to get to a tree close by, which he climbed up just in 

 time to save himself from a renewed attack. The bear 

 not being a good climber, and the cubs by this time hav- 

 ing gone some distance away, left the shepherd to climb 

 down at his leisure. The flesh from the poor man's arms 

 was stripped to the bone, his face scratched in a horrible 

 manner, and his clothes torn in strips. 



There are quite a number of black-tailed deer and a 

 good many antelope. My friends had seen antelope every 

 few days during August, although they had not hunted 

 especially for them, and .Toe had killed a fine one only 

 the week before. There is some small timber along the 

 streams, and on the sides of the ridges, and in this the 

 deer find shelter. Antelope are always found on the 

 open plains, Coyotes are quite frequent visitors to the 

 sheep ranch. These animals seem to have changed their 

 habits of late years, as we read of them being very tame, 

 prowling around near camp in the day time, and at night 

 carrying off provisions from the tent, and even stealing 

 hats, boots, etc., from under the heads of sleepers. Now 

 they are exceedingly shy, seldom come about in the day 

 time, and are very clifficult to shoot at night. I only saw 

 one and that was a long way off and running away as 

 fast as possible. A big gray wolf occasionally pays his 

 respects to the shepherd, and when he does usually car- 

 ries off a good stock of mutton. A neighboring herder 

 had an adventure not long since with a mountain lion. 

 After thoroughly frightening the herder, who had no gun, 

 the animal disappeared without further damage. Thus 

 the evening was spent listening to stories of adventure 

 and incidents that had happened to these men during the 

 summer. It must have been near midnight when our 

 visitors left us for their own camps in the neighborhood, 

 and the two shepherds and myself crawled' under our 

 blankets and were soon asleep. 



During the night the heaviest rainfall of the season oc- 

 curred. The wind fairly howled, and I expected to see 

 the tent go over, although it was fastened with guy ropes 

 to stakes driven into the ground. We happened to be 

 lying in a little hollow, and were awakeneel by a stream 

 of water running under the blankets and wetting through. 

 I got up and went into the other tent to secure my cart- 

 ridges and ammunition from the rain, and it is well I did 

 so or they would have been spoiled, and no more nearer 

 than Rawlins. I got pretty well soaked as to my under 

 garments, but no one complains or loses his temper on 

 account of such little inconveniences, but learns to take 

 them as matters of course. 



After the interruption of the night I slept late the next 

 morning and woke to find myself alone in the tent, the 

 shepherds having taken breakfast and gone out with 

 their sheep. The sun was shining brightly through the 

 opening in front of the tent, and the white frost still 

 covered the ground. I go into the kitchen, stir up the 

 fire in the little sheet-iron stove, and look around to find 

 something for breakfast. My appetite has been getting 

 furious for the past few days. After breakfast of mutton , 

 potatoes, molasses, pancakes, dried apples and turnips, I 

 set about cleaning and wiping my guns that had such a 

 wetting during the night. I amuse myself about camp un- 

 til the middle of the forenoon, when it occurs to me that 

 the men will soon be back to dinner, and I will show them 

 what 1 can do in the way of cooking. A little search 

 discovers the hoof of a leg of mutton protruding from a 

 box in one end of the kitchen tent. Closer examination 

 develops that there is very little meat on the bones, in 

 fact that the camp is nearly out of meat. In this ex- 

 tremity I think of the ever-convenient sage hens, and 

 taking my three-barrel and a few loaded shells, stroll off 

 down the creek. 



Poor foolish birds ! You are everybody's victim. With- 

 out sense enough often to get out of the way of a long 

 stick, you will allow the clumsiest bungler that ever 

 carried a shotgun to knock you down at ten paces because 

 you are too stupid to use your wings in time. You are 

 the last resort of every hunter, herder, or wandering im- 

 migrant whose skill fails on better game. Your bones 

 lie in little heaps all over the prairie, the melancholy 

 proof of defenseless contact with every prowling varmint 

 that comes your way. Your only reliance is in your 

 color being the same as the sage bush. It is a surprise 

 that your tribe is as numerous as it is, and you probably 

 owe your delayed extinction to the fact that no one wants 

 you when anything else can be obtained. 



In an hour I came back to camp with two birds dressed 

 and ready for the pot, but my friend had come in mean- 

 while and so I divided with him the honor and respons- 

 ibility of the fine dinner we sat down to. After dinner 

 we strolled out a few miles from camp to see the country 

 and replenish our stock of provisions. I took my trusty 

 three-barrel and Joe his Sharps rifle. It was the coldest 

 day of the season. The wind blew a gale. We climbed 

 a high ridge overlooking some fifty miles of gray undulat- 

 ing landscape on the south, and on the west the bare out- 

 lines of the Rocky Mountains. We came upon a flock of 

 four or five sage fowl, large fine-looking birds (they are 

 the largest of the grouse family) seventy-five yards off, 

 and for a wonder they seemed quite wild. They made 

 no attempt to fly, but ran from us, their long necks ap- 

 pearing above the sage bush. I gave one of them a load 

 of No. 4 shot from my chokebored barrel which broke its 

 wing. As they were getting away too far for shot, I fired 

 twice with the rifle barrel without effect. The birds still 

 kept the ground. Thinking to try the experiment I put 

 a" load of buckshot into the cylinder barrel, and "let her 

 go" as one of the birds came out from behind a bush. 

 Rather to my surprise, the bird fell over dead; the distance 

 was 110 paces. As we were going over the brow of a hill 

 I discovered a jack rabbit crouched by the side of a rock. 

 As I had not yet examined a specimen closely I took no 

 risk of scaring him up or. giving him any chance for his 

 life, but fired at the crouched form. The rabbit made 



