106 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 28, 1889. 



he fyarfmtfitn jFonivst 



AWAY FROM THE THRONG. 



T V may not be— yet it seemfrto me 



■"- Away from the throng is hest; 



By Home lonely snore where the waters roar, 

 Or far in the crimson west. 



For friends are few that are sure and true- 

 Aye, the crowd is a mob to mo; 



More tame and mild is the distant wild, 

 More calm is the stormiest sea. 



Ah, it ranst he so, for the wisest, know 

 That man is a foe to man! 



The love is small that extends to all, 

 Tho' we trust it as wo can. 



To have one friend at a long life's end, 

 Is a blessing rare, I sigh, 



One faithful clasp as we dying gasp- 

 One elanco in an honest eye! 



Y"et there's love in all, in great and small, 



In the liend whom all avoid; 

 You may see its gleam in a demon's dream, 



And it cannot he destroyed. 

 In the great and least, in man and beast. 



'Tis the sonl, till life shall fail; 

 I'm sure 'tis pai't of my lady's heart, 



And it wags my spaniel's tail. 



But I sigh again as I say with pain. 



Away from the throng is best; 

 My l oudest dreams are of woods and streams 



Afar in the hustile west. 

 There's a gleam 1 pri'/.e in my horse's eyes. 



And 1 like— three dogs at mosl — 

 Aye, one dear face in my heart has place, 



But it cannot hold a host. C. L. P. 



A MONTH IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 



ICot dinned from pnyc S3.] 



MINER'S DELIGHT, in the palmy days of gold mining- 

 ten years ago, was a smart town of 1,000 inhabitants. 

 When the gold gave out, there being nothing else to hold 

 them, the people left, and the present population num- 

 bers, or did at the time of my arrival, just three people, 

 an old gentleman and his wife, and an old bachelor who 

 lived by himself. During my stay a man with his wife 

 and child moved in, which doubled the population. I re- 

 mained here two days waiting for my guide to make his 

 preparations, for I was still sixty or seventy miles from 

 the hunting grounds. The time was pleasantly spent. I 

 explored the neighborhood for game, without, however, 

 any marked success. On one occasion the man who was 

 out with me claimed to have started a deer, and pointed 

 to the fresh track as positive proof of his statement. I 

 observed the same day the track of a mountain lion, pre- 

 cisely like the footprints of a common cat. but several 

 times larger. 



Miner's Delight is the highest poiut, probably, in all 

 this region east of the Rocky Mountains. The view from 

 here exceeds in magnitude everything I haAe yet seen. 

 It is simply unlimited, there being nothing to obstruct 

 the vision. The Rocky Mountains bound the horizon on 

 the west, and the sight of them from this point is grand 

 beyond description. On the south the view is most ex- 

 tensive. It is a broken desertlike prospect, cut up with 

 barren rocky ridges and abrupt canons, and streaked 

 with strips of stunted pines and cotton woods. Toward 

 the north the timber is more abundant, and the sides of 

 the mountains are covered with a thick growth of pines, 

 extending two-thirds up their sides to the timber line. 

 A few lonely miners may be camped here and there in 

 the gulches, or the white tent of a herder may be seen 

 on the gray plains, where he is spending a few days of 

 his gipsy life, but other than these there is not a human 

 habitation in view. The atmosphere is wonderfully clear, 

 rendering the reach of the naked eye much more' exten- 

 sive than in the East. There is no smoke or mist, and no 

 dust, and there is none of the hazy appearance, prevalent 

 in the East at this season. The atmosphere actually 

 magnifies, making distant objects appear as though 

 viewed through a spyglass. The rarity and clearness of 

 the air and freedom from moisture may account for the 

 heat of the sun in this northern latitude. Added to its 

 purity are the delightful coolness and freshness of the 

 atmosphere. It stimulates every nerve. I begin to feel 

 like an athlete. My appetite is something alarming. I 

 eat and eat and eat until I am ashamed of myself. Part 

 of the credit of this appetite is due to Mrs. Kime; there 

 never was a better landlady. Her table is supplied with 

 everything the Territory affords, and prepared in a way 

 that would do credit to Vanderbilt's chef. Dishes that I 

 never especially craved at home, here seemed glorious 

 luxuries, 



At last everything was ready for the start to the hunt- 

 ing grounds — the headwaters of Little. Sandy River. 

 My guide was an experienced hunter. We had a good 

 spring wagon and three horses, one to be used as a re- 

 serve in case of accident to the others. We had a tent, 

 blankets, cooking utensils, and provisions to last a week, 

 for the rest we relied on our guns. At 10 o'clock on the 

 morning of Sept. 16 we pulled out for Miner's Delight. 

 The weather was perfect. Our road was the old immi- 

 grant trail used by the first settlers to Oregon and north- 

 ern California, in the early days before railroads, and has 

 been the scene of many a bloody encounter with the In- 

 dians. We see plenty of sage hens along the road, and 

 amuse ourselves firing at them with our revolvers, aim- 

 ing at their heads as they tret off over the plains, but 

 without much damage to the birds. We go down into a 

 deep gulch to South Pass City, an old mining town now 

 deserted, and then out into the broad plain beyond. 

 Some traders who passed along this road the week before 

 informed us that they saw "hundreds" of antelope in this 

 vicinity, but not an antelope came in sight of us. Evi- 

 dently they had loped off anterior to our arrival. We 

 examine closely every suspicious looking stone and bush 

 with the glass, but not a living thing came in sight. We 

 see now and then the white skulls of buffalo distinguished 

 from those of common cattle by the thick short horns 

 and greater breadth between. In some places the ground 

 is cut up with little round hollows, which my companion 

 says are buffalo wallows. This locality was doubtless 

 but a few years ago the resort of this noble animal, but 



we do not hope to see any now, as the race is practically 

 extinct. 



We soon leave the old immigrant trail and take to the 

 right, following a dim path and the recent tracks of 

 a wagon drawn by a horse and mule, as we see by the 

 tracks in the sandy road. An Indian tepee trail comes 

 into our road and goes in our direction. We see the trail- 

 ing marks in the sand where the ends of the lodgepoles 

 drag along on the ground, the other end being fastened 

 to the pony. Further on we found where some Indians 

 had camped the night before. A number of slim poles 

 like fishpoles were stuck into the ground in a circle, and 

 the ends tied together at the top. We are sorry to find 

 that Indians are in the neighborhood, as they frighten 

 the game, and for that reason the white hunter tries to 

 avoid the neighborhood where Indians are supposed to be. 

 Toward night we began to look out for good camping 

 ground, but it is very nearly dark before we come to a good 

 place, for we must find water and feed for the horses. 

 This we find near a clear stream of water called Lander 

 Creek. Dan unhitches the horses while I gather up some 

 wood for a fire. Thanks to the kindness of Mrs. Kime, 

 we do not have to cook much. We put over the frying-pan 

 with two young sage hens, a. piece of bacon and some 

 slices of potatoes. We have some good biscuits, pickles, 

 molasses and dried fruit, and some "Way up" tea that I 

 obtained at Denver. We sit cross-legged on the ground 

 and cat with an appetite unknown outside of camp life. 



As we were sitting by the fire after supper I heard a 

 little rustling near by, and looking in the direction, saw 

 two peering eyes glancing and turning in the. darkness. 

 I nudged my companion and pointod excitedly in the 

 direction, declaring that there was a coyote, or* wolf, or 

 perhaps a tnountain lion, at the same time fumbling 

 around for my gun. intending to give the animal a load 

 of buckshot between the eyes. Before I could get ready 

 for the "tragedy," in walked a little half-starved tame 

 cat, mewing and purring and rubbing herself against our 

 legs. I could hardly restrain my feelings of disgust. 

 Here I was one hundred miles from civilization and just 

 about to add a gray wolf skin to my stock of trophies 

 (yet to be obtained), and it turns out to be a miserable 

 tame cat that has probably strayed from some moving 

 ranchman or immigrant. 



There is no use going to the trouble of putting up the 

 tent, so we select a suitable spot and spread our blankets 

 on the gi-ound in the open plain. In this country where 

 it seldom rains and the ground is perfectly dry, one can 

 sleep on the ground without the least danger of taking 

 cold. You double up your tent canvas in the right shape, 

 and lay it on the ground first. Then your heavy double 

 blankets are folded so as to be twice your length. You 

 lie down upon one end and draw the other end up over 

 you, clear up to your head. Your coat can be used for a 

 pillow, and your rifle laid along the edge of your blanket 

 underneath will prevent you from rolling out of bed 

 You should have something like a traveling cap to pro 

 tect your head. The stars shine out brightly through the 

 cold air, and you go to sleep to know no waking until the 

 morning sun shines in your face. 



Our road from here is a gradual ascent following the 

 course of the stream. Little Sandy River, our destina- 

 tion, flows into the waters of the Pacific slope, although 

 we do not have to cross the main "crest of the continent" 

 to get to it. It rises in a canon southeast of the National 

 Park and flows down between the principal range and a 

 large spiu- of the Rockies on the east, thence out through, 

 an opening or break in the chain, and on into the Green 

 River. We must, therefore, follow up the streams on 

 this side and cross over the divide in order to reach it. 

 About noon we reach the highest point of land, and turn 

 down the other side to the river. Here we conclude to 

 stop a while, rest the horses and try the fish. It is a 

 curious fact that there are no trout in the Sweetwater 

 River, a clear stream on the east slope, although they 

 abound in all the streams flowing into the Pacific. 

 Numerous attempts have been made to introduce the 

 mountain trout into the Sweetwater, but all have been 

 unsuccessful. We soon had all the trout we wanted for 

 dinner. These fish differ somewhat from the Eastern 

 brook trout. They are not near as gamy a fish as their 

 brothers in the Allegheny Mountain streams, but I found 

 them equally as shy in taking the bait. If I showed my- 

 self the least they would not take the most tempting 

 bait; but half an hour afterward, creeping up carefully 

 behind the willows, I caught four in a few minutes from 

 the same place. They have the same red and black spots, 

 but are a shade darker, and grow to a much larger size, 

 often to 4 or 51bs. in weight. 



When Dan came in from fishing he reported having 

 seen a large owl fly up from the thicket near the river 

 and alight in the top of a tall pine not far off. Taking 

 my three-barrel, I went out in that direction, and after 

 peering up into the treetops for a while, finally discovered 

 his owlship gazing down upon me solemnly from his 

 perch, eighty or ninety feet above. It seemed a pity to 

 do so, but I let fly a charge of No. 5 shot from the choke- 

 bored chamber of my triple shooting machine, and down 

 came the owl like a stone. He didn't even take time to 

 unfold his wings, and I picked him up under the tree as 

 limp as a wet rag, every bone in his body seemingly 

 broken into half -inch pieces. He was a beautiful bird 

 with mottled white and gray plumage, his outstretched 

 wings extending as far as my hands could reach. As I 

 came in carrying my owl, Dan was rather inclined to be 

 out of humor on account of the noise I had made in fir- 

 ing at worthless game when we were so near the hunting 

 ground. I expressed to him in a mild way that I didn't 

 think there was any danger on that account: that it was 

 yet several miles to the foot of the mountain, and there 

 was no possibility of any large game nearer unless it 

 might be a stray antelope, and that was not very probable, 

 and besides I had plenty of ammunition along, and had 

 come out here as much for owls as anything, although I 

 knew they were not very good to eat, but were rather tough 

 when boiled; in fact, I was something of a hunter my- 

 self. All which demonstrates, I suppose, that success in 

 hunting makes one boastful, even though that success be 

 no more than the killing of an owl at short range with a 

 shotgun. 



What annoys me most, however, is the occasional 

 empty tin cans and bottles I see scattered about. Of 

 course in this country, where no fruit or vegetables grow, 

 every traveler brings canned fruits and throws away the 

 cans. Along the stage road this was expected and was 

 not objectionable, but now, after being eight days from ( 

 railroads, and fifty miles from the remotest apology for 1 



a town, these things ought to disappear. I feel like telling 

 them, "Avaunt and quit my sight." If I cannot achieve 

 nay great ambition, and find some place where civilized 

 man has not yet taken up his permanent abode, I do hope 

 at least to get out of the way of old tin cans and empty 

 beer bottles. 



Our intention was to drive up the stream as far as pos- 

 sible, and there make a permanent camp. We cross the 

 river (it would be called a creek in the East) and turn to 

 the right, leaving the trail, and follow the valley of the 

 river toward a gap or narrow opening through which it is 

 possible to take the wagon nearly up to the foot of the 

 mountain. The mountains are about fifteen miles distant, 

 although they appear to be but seven. We find after 

 going some distance that the wagon track, which also left 

 the trail at the river crossing, takes the same general 

 direction that we have marked out for ourselves, a mat- 

 ter of disappointment to us as we don't know whether the 

 party are Indians or whites, or what influence they may 

 have on the game. If Indians, they are, of course, 

 hunters; but if whites, they may be a party of mining 

 prospectors, and will not interfere with us. We continue, 

 however, following the wagon track up some steep pitches 

 and over some almost impassable rocks. 



While Dan is resting the horses I take my Marlin and 

 push on ahead, ascending a benchlike plateau. Sud- 

 denly I see five antelope skipping away in the distance. 

 They scamper off behind some quaking asp timber and 

 get out of sight. I wait and get into the wagon in the 

 hope of coming nearer to them in that way than I could 

 on foot. As we go around a point of woods, sure 

 enough about 400yds. away, we see them making toward 

 the woods. I jumped out of the wagon with a view of 

 taking a rest across a roll of blankets in the back end, 

 but before I got around the game had disappeared, and 

 by this foolish move on my part I lose the only oppor- 

 tunity I had of getting anything like a fair shot at ante- 

 lope. We push on way up into the timber, going about 

 as far as it seems possible to go with the wagon, but the 

 fresh wagon tracks still going on, we urge the horses 

 over rocks and logs through a recently made opening, 

 and finally, descending a little hill, come to where, the 

 owners of the wagon are encamped. As we suspected, 

 they are a party of white hunters. There is their tent 

 and wagon and close by the horse and mule, whose track 

 we had seen. What attracts our attention particularly 

 aud raises my spirits several degrees is about half the 

 carcass of a calf elk hanging to a tree by the side of the 

 tent. Here at least is evidence that we are in the neigh- 

 borhood of noble game. 



While Dan is looking after the camp affairs, 1 take my 

 rifle and stroll out. Near by is a high and bald-top moun- 

 tain, and I determine to climb up there and get a good 

 view of the surroundings, and observe the lay of the land, 

 for in such an immense extent of new country the stran- 

 ger must first endeavor to fix upon some landmarks to 

 guide him when out hunting alone, for if he once loses 

 his reckoning in this wilderness he might wander about 

 for weeks without coming upon a sign of a human being, 

 so that my anxiety was not only to find game, but to keep 

 from losing myself. I found the bald knob to be the 

 point or termination of a long flat ridge or table land, ex- 

 tending back to the base of the main mountain, which 

 seems further away now than it did from the river cross- 

 ing. On each side, east and west, was an extensive val- 

 ley. On the east the valley stretched out a good many 

 miles, for the most part thickly covered with pine. Some 

 patches of quaking asp, with here and there a spot of 

 sage-grown prairie, gave variety to the scene. This 

 wooded country extended from down into the plain or 

 level country a mile or so below our camp to back up the 

 sides of the mountains, a distance probably of fifteen or 

 twenty miles. 



Along the nearer edge of the valley I could trace the 

 course of Little Sandy River by the denser growth of 

 pines and an occasional rocky cation. About half way 

 up the main mountain is distinctly marked the timber 

 line. Above all this is a bare rocky surface. The moun- 

 tain sides are ribbed into huge sharp-pointed ridges, high, 

 irregular and scraggy, sharply outlined against the sky, 

 likeimmense saw teeth. Where the liver breaks through, 

 the sides come down in dizzy, almost perpendicular, steep- 

 ness. The highest of one of these peaks is pointed out as 

 Fremont's Peak, and on its eastern slope still remain 

 drifts of last winter's snow. On the other side of the 

 table land the valley is less regular, being broken by 

 great spurs dropping down from the main ridge. Over 

 and beyond there is an enormous thickly-wooded terri- 

 tory extending up the Big Sandy. The prospect seems 

 interminable in extent. It is beautiful, grand, imposing. 



Around the camp-fire that night we learned from our 

 neighbors, the two hunters, who had in the meantime 

 come in, that they had arrived three days before, and 

 until the afternoon of the day previous had only killed 

 the elk calf, but yesterday, just as they were returning 

 to camp, having seen nothing all day, they suddenly 

 came upon a band of four elk, an old bull and cow and 

 two calves; they had fired into them at close range and 

 killed, three, and the fourth, one of the calves, got away 

 with probably a fatal wound. They had skinned and 

 quartered the elk, and last night a whole quarter of the 

 eow T elk had been carried off by a bear. This was excit- 

 ing news. We were certainly in the country of large 

 game. I rolled up in my blanket that night with antici- 

 pations at fever heat. C. L. S. 

 C h Aw A noooa, Tennessee. 



[TO BE CONTINUED.] 



A Woodcock Portrait.— H. L. Brackett, the Boston 

 artist, has recently finished a painting of a woodcock for 

 E. H. Lathrop, which is now shown in one of the win- 

 dows of Mayott's sporting goods store. The picture was 

 painted from life, something that probably was never 

 done before in the case of this species of game. Mr. 

 Brackett, however, obtained a bird, and the excellent re- 

 sult he has portrayed on canvas is the fruit of his study. 

 The bird is about life size, represented as standing on a 

 miniature sand beach commonly seen on the lowlands fre- 

 quented by woodcock. In the background is a slight 

 fringe of coarse swamp grass or ferns. A common idea 

 is that the bird stretches its neck out and down near the 

 ground, and with its highly sensitive ears is able to hear 

 the worms moving in the moist sand, and then bores after 

 them with its long bill. This idea is followed out in the 

 picture, and the position represents much intensity, and 

 is so faithful that when one moves before the canvas he 

 expects the bird to fly away. — Springfield Republican. 



