206 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 9, 1898. 



back like a camel and grunted like a hog every step it 

 took. We uamed her "Old Spike" and she turned out a 

 good bargain, for she was tough aswhalobone and stood the 

 tramp fuU better than the other, until in an evil moment 

 a couple of mountain lions took a notion to dine off their 

 bones; but of that in its proper place. With our camping 

 and cooking outfit, a sack of flour, a side of bacon, coffee, 

 sugar and with guns on shoulder, we started out bright 

 and early on a Monday morning for the Cotton Wood 

 Pass which opened up six miles from the village; and by 

 sunrise we were fairly in the mountains. 



Of that day's work I will say nothing except that it was 

 a long hard tramp somewhat enlivened by Mack's boasts 

 of how he was going to "put the tenderfeet through," I 

 showed the boys a teee where eight years before I had 

 seen a man hanging at the end of a rope with a card bear- 

 ing the legend "Hung for stealing a mule" pinned on his 

 breast; and in return Mack told us a horrible tale of the 

 murder of a man named Osborne who had kept what was 

 known as "Osborne's Eanche" or "The Halfway House," 

 a kind of free and easy place of accommodation for man 

 and beast — store, grog shop and hotel together — away up 

 near the top of the pass, almost to timber line, Osborne 

 had objected to the attentions of some fellow to his step- 

 daughter and the fellow indignantly shot Osborne all to 

 pieces one evening in the presence of his family, and now 

 the ranch was deserted and had the name of being haunt- 

 ed by Osborne's ghost. I remembered the place and the 

 man well, having staid over night there on two occasions. 

 There was something so comical about the man and his 

 proportions that it was ha,rd to keep one's eyes off from 

 him. He was btiilt like a jug with a small top and an 

 enormous belly, and his mouth was always puckered into 

 an absurd grin; and yet you could not teU whether he 

 meant to smile or not. Once seen he could never be for- 

 gotten. We found the place deserted, as Mack had said. 



We built a rousing fire in the fireplace of one of the 

 •cabins, got our supper and having seen the animals well 

 picketed where there was good feed, made our bed on the 

 floor and in no time were all sound asleep. We were up 

 early and soon had a good hot breakfast, with strong 

 coffee. Coffee is the one thing that a man in the moun- 

 tains misses more than all other creature comforts, when 

 he gets out of it. He can do without the sugar and the 

 milk, can make a good meal without meat or vegetables 

 or bread, and can sustain a long, hard tramp without 

 other grub if his coffee holds out, but without it every- 

 thing else seems to lose half of its value. 



The night of the second day out found us camped at the 

 head of Taylor Canon, on the west side of the Continental 

 Divide. We were all tired. Mack's boasting bad entirely 

 ceased early in the day, and now he was heard to make 

 some emphatic remarks about the condition of his feet. 

 It did not take us long to catch all the trout we wanted 

 for supper and breakfast, and notwithstanding fatigue, 

 Cole and I felt ourselves supremely contented with the 

 prospect ahead of us, and as we lazily reclined on our 

 blankets enjoying well-earned rest, and peacefully smoked 

 our pipes, taking in the grand proportions of the moun- 

 tain peaks that loomed up in whatever direction 

 we looked, and speculated on their mysterious con=- 

 tents of mineral wealth and what they might have in 

 store for us, we grew eager for the daylight to come 

 again, for the birth of a new day in which to explore 

 their dizzy heights for mountain sheep and the depths of 

 their forest-covered sides and ravines" for deer and other 

 game, and to follow up their torrents for the great trout 

 that we knew lay hidden in the deep pools and on the 

 foaming rapids. 



I cannot attempt any description of the grand scenery 

 that unrolled itself before us like a grand panorama, and 

 was repeated day after day, and which never palled with 

 sameness, for there is a never-ending variety of shape 

 and height and proportion and color, which to me seem 

 like a dream. I have read many descriptions of these 

 wonderful works of the Creator, written by men whose 

 powers of description were great, but when I came to 

 seethe reality I found their best endeavors poor and tame. 



The next day discovered to us that we had neighbors, 

 a couple of young fellows who lived some ten or twelve 

 miles south of Buena Vista on the east side of the range. 

 They had made the journey in a wagon and were to start 

 for home that afternoon. Hearing this, it did not take 

 Mack long to find out that he had done wrong to leave 

 his wife and daughter alone in charge of the hotel with- 

 out any man around to take care of them (there were 

 twenty who would do anything for the ladies), and he 

 seized the opportunity to ride back so near home, and bade 

 us farewell. 



"Well, we had our "second wind," and from this time 

 on I do not remember ever being too tired to take my rod 

 and whip the streams with my flies for trout, even "after 

 long hours of hard climbing. " We stayed on Taylor River 

 several days, and had excellent fishing, but we found 

 game scarce and pulled up stakes and went to Tin Cup to 

 interview- some old friends of mine as to which direction 

 we had better go in order to find deer and other large 

 game. 



On the way up the Park we ran across Stephen Pease, 

 a miner of fifty years standing, with whom I was ac- 

 quainted, and he told us of a friend, J. M. Cole, who had 

 a cattle ranch on Piceance (pronounced Pe-anse) Creek in 

 Garfield county, in northwest Colorado, who had written 

 him to come out there and himt, where "deer were so 

 plenty that they came down out of the mountains and 

 hung their hides on the fences to save the hunter the 

 trouble of going after them." He assured us of a hearty 

 welcome, and when we decided to go, gave me a letter 

 of introduction to Mr. Cole, which I knew from the general 

 character of men who spend their lives in these remote 

 parts meant for us a home as long as we wanted to stay. 

 After several days more spent aroimd Hillerton and Tin 

 Cup we started to find "Jim," as Mr. Cole was familiarly 

 called. We followed up Taylor River nearly to its head- 

 waters, and we never ate a meal without trout if we 

 wanted them. Every stream was full of them, and the 

 fish were varied with doves and grouse and pine squirrels. 



At Bowman's Ranch, where we stayed over night be- 

 fore crossing the Elk Mountains, we met a party under 

 the guidance of an old mountain man they called Tom. 

 He was hunter, trapper, guide and miner; and had ranged 

 the country in every du-ection. He told us our nearest 

 point for good hunting ground was Trapper's Lake. In 

 the morning we began to suspect that our new acquain- 

 tances were slippery customers, for we foxmd our knives, 

 forks and spoons missing. Noticing that something was 

 wrong, Tom asked us what was thp matter. We told him. 



He asked us where we had left them, and when we showed 

 him, he called our attention to a collection of sticks and 

 stones that we knew had not been there when we put the 

 table utensils there. He then told us the thief was a rat, 

 a sort of free trader, who took what he wanted but always 

 left something in the place of what he took, though gen- 

 erally not of much value. He related that one of the 

 richest mines in Colorado had been discovered through 

 one of these creatures making a swap with some miners 

 one night in the same way this one had with us; when 

 it took a knife or a spoon it had left a chunk of ore in its 

 place, which proved to be very rich with ware silver, and 

 in hunting for the stolen property they found the ledge 

 where the rat had got the ore. We did not have any 

 such luck, but we foimd our cutlery very nicely covered 

 with some old papers under a stump. Although we ran 

 across him several times we never knew more of the man 

 than that his name was Tom and that he had lost an arm 

 in a fight with the Indians. The stub was fitted with an 

 iron hook, with which he was very handy; and he was 

 as genial, accommodating and good-hearted a fellow as 

 one would desire to meet. 



We killed a beaver the next morning, just after cross- 

 iag the Elk Mountains, and that night camped within 

 two miles of Aspen. From Aspen we kept leisurely on 

 our way to Glenwood Springs, and on this part of the 

 route we greatly regretted not having brought shotguns. 

 We tramped by and through some splendid farms, where 

 every field seemed to be alive with doves, that arose on 

 every side of us, whirling overhead and going in every 

 direction. We might have had some splendid wing 

 shooting, but we had made up our minds at Pueblo that 

 we would need nothing but our rifles, and had stored our 

 shotguns there with our extra clothing. We shot enough, 

 however, to get what we wanted to eat, but every other 

 one would be a better subject for hash than for broiling, 

 and a dove hit in the body by a .45-caliber ball is not 

 worth much even for hash. 



From Glenwood Springs we went down the Grand 

 River, and when about eight miles out camped on the 

 bank of a stream that comes out of Dark Cafion. Good 

 grazing had been scarce for two days past, and at this 

 point there was a flourishing farm all fenced in. Not 

 knowing how far we might have to go before we found 

 grass again, we made up our minds to buy some fodder 

 for the burros and give them one good square meal. With 

 this purpose in view I went to the house and found a man 

 and woman eating dinner. I asked for the proprietor and 

 was told he had gone to Glenwood. The woman was his 

 wife. I told her wha,t I wanted and was informed that 

 they had nothing to sell. I said, "You have everything 

 fenced in here, and may we go into your cornfield and 

 pull some Aveeds for the animals?" Her answer was "No; 

 we want them ourselves." I tried to work on her sym- 

 pathies by representing the burros as at almost starvation 

 point, but this seemed to please her. She was the one 

 sole and isolated inhospitable person 1 have met in the 

 mountains, and her heart seemed as barren of human 

 feeling as the rugged rocka and burning sand that 

 abounded in those parts. I had not joined my partner 

 many minutes before the man came oUt of some bushes 

 opposite us and said to me, "If you will go with me I will 

 show you where you can ^et a good feed." He took me 

 into a field on the opposite side of the creek, shielded 

 from the house by a strip of timber, and here in a melon 

 patch were bunches of oats all headed out not yet ripe. 

 He told me to pull all I wanted, remarking, "I suppose 

 the hog would give me the devil if she knew of this, but 

 I don't care." I did not care myself, and soon laid before 

 the buri-'is all I could carry in my arms. Before they 

 were through the woman came down and looked at what 

 they were eating, and if ever an evil spirit glared from a 

 woman's eyes one did from hers. She did not say any- 

 thing, however, and we soon left her vicinity. 



From here we went on to Elk Creek and up Elk Creek 

 about fifteen miles, and then struck across to the south 

 fork of Rifle Creek. Here a woman at a ranch, where 

 we stopped for milk, wanted us to stay and hunt mountain 

 lions, which were plenty and bold and had eaten up aU 

 the dogs in those parts but her own; and she had saved 

 him only by keeping him in the house. Two miles further 

 on, at the junction of the south and north forks of Rifle 

 Creek, we found a small settlement, where, on the side 

 of the store, were stretched five great bear skins that had 

 been on live frames within a week. This began to look 

 like business. So far we had seen only a few deer; but 

 here, by going back into the mountains, we could find 

 anything we wanted. We were told that if we wanted 

 to find good hunting we must go to Meeker, and thence 

 up the White River to Trapper's Lake, or branch off on 

 the south fork of the White, about forty miles north- 

 east of Meeker, and we would find everything the heart 

 could desire in the shape of g9,me and fish. As this had 

 been the burden of the tale of every man we had met for 

 a himdred miles back, we fuUy believed in the truth 

 of it. 



But we were bound to see "Jim Cole," the man to 

 whom I had a letter of introduction from Mr. Pease. He 

 seemed to be about the best known man in Colorado, for 

 whenever we inquired for him the reply was invariably, 

 with evident surprise at such a question, "Know Jim 

 Cole ! I reckon every one in these parts knows him." A 

 man in Meeker told us " He is a devil-may-care-cuss who 

 owns a large ranch covered with horses and cattle over 

 on Pe-anse Creek, and he comes over here once in a while 

 and cleans the boys out of what loose change they have 

 in their clothes," At the head of Piceance Creek we 

 found Tom, the guide, again, and he told us to go down 

 the creek to Morgan's ranch — about four miles below — 

 and Morgan could tell us all about "Jim Cole," and 

 whether he was at home or not. 



That morning, just after we broke camp Irv made the 

 best shot I saw made while we were out. We heard 

 something crashing through the bushes to our left, and I 

 looked aroimd just in time to see him swing his rifle to 

 his shoulder, and following its direction saw the head and 

 shoulders of a large buck just as it came out on the top of 

 a ridge fully 200yds, off. I had hardly sighted the buck 

 before I heard the crack of his rifle, and the old fellow 

 with one great leap in the air fell dead. We soon had 

 his hindquarters packed on one of the bm-ros and we 

 went ahead, Irv's face all smiles. 



When we came to Morgan's ranch we were informed 

 that Jim Cole and his whole family had gone up on the 

 south fork of the White River berrying. We decided at 

 once to follo\y him, and turning north made a break for 

 Mee^ejr^ fh^n about ^birtjr mij.es from vis, Our way was 



across what is known as White River Plateau, a fine, roll- 

 ing prairie, probably 8,000ft, above sea level, A little 

 while after leaving Morgan's we saw something skulking 

 along which we at first took for a wolf, and we made for 

 him. He holed up shortly and we found it was a badger. 

 We laid down to see if he wouldn't come out, and soon 

 up popped his head. We were not over 50yds, from him, 

 and supposed of course we had both got him, but we had 

 not. He popped up in another place and we tried him 

 again. Then we took turns at him and shot holes enougli 

 at that badger to have made a skimmer of his hide, but 

 he seemed to laugh at us, and we left him in disgust for 

 some one else to practice on. 



About half-way over the plateau we came upon another 

 prosperous-looking ranch. We could see the men making 

 hay two good miles away from the house, and when we 

 went to the house for milk we foimd a pretty little girl 

 some 17 or 18 years of age aU alone in charge of affairs. 

 She gave us aU the milk we wanted and then went with 

 Irv to the barn to see if she couldn't find some hens' eggs 

 for us. The girl wanted us to stay over a day; said they 

 did not see much company, and her father and brothers 

 would be delighted to visit with us, as they were originally 

 from "York" State. We were anxious to get on, how- 

 ever, and so did not stop. 



The next day at noon found us in Meeker, a small 

 hamlet a short distance from the historical site of the 

 horrible Meeker massacre. Here we stopped for our mail 

 and got our first tidings from home, I shaU never forget 

 the look of suspicion with which the postmaster regarded 

 us as we tore open envelopes addressed to us, with the 

 usual formality added to om- names, "attorney, etc," 

 and "attorney-at-law." He had seen clerks and lawyers 

 there before, but they had been attended by guides and 

 came horseback or drove in, and had knickerbockers and 

 dude things generally. The wild life we had been living 

 had told on us and the days of hard tramping in the hot 

 sun had given us the true cowboy color. We did not at 

 all look the trim spruce fellows who had left the cars at 

 Pueblo, and the appearance of the entire outfit was too 

 much for the credulity of that postmaster. Finally he 

 broke out, "You don't mean to tell me you fellers are 

 lawyers?" We informed him that such, indeed, was the 

 fact; told him where we lived, showed him our business 

 cards and a mention of our going West in the WatMns 

 Democrat, which was among the other mail matter. His 

 suspicion changed to admiration and he was very curious 

 as to how we had got along. He examined our animals 

 and noticed that we had got the "right hang" of putting 

 on their packs. Then we gave him a history of our trip so 

 far and showed him the letter of introduction to Jim 

 Cole, with whom he was well accquainted. He ended 

 by complimenting us with, "Well, if you ain't two of the 

 best tenderfeet I ever run across." John M. Roe. 



AN UNCOMFORTABLE TIME. 



Santa Ee, N. M.— Bright and early one autumn morn- 

 ing, Witj Duke and myself started for a day among the 

 quail in Slnagee Cafion. Wit ^Os a man and Duke waa a 

 Laverack setter. 



In an hour and a half we were on the ground; and giv- 

 ing our driver directions as to when and where to meet uu 

 below in the canon, we limbered up and were ready for 

 action. 



In fifteen minutes Duke had a covey in front of him. 

 As soon as discovered they started on a lively run up a 

 side canon, Duke looked at the birds, then at me, then 

 whined This was the dog's first experience with New 

 Mexico quail. As they rose I dropped one and marked 

 the flock down. 



Calling Wit we followed them to where they had taken 

 cover and soon Duke pointed one in his best style. I 

 pushed him along with my knee, and he was fairly upon 

 it before it flushed; and not allowing it to take sufficient 

 distance I riddled it so that it was unfit for the bag, 



Duke soon had another point and continued putting 

 the birds up in great shape until we had almost the entire 

 covey in our game sacks. 



It was now time for our team to make its appearance. 

 We concluded we would take the back track, meet it and 

 enjoy our lunch. We soon found the wagon track, and 

 following it discovered that our driver had taken the 

 wrong road. We followed the trail along a flat-topped 

 mesa, a distance of four or five miles, when we met a 

 couple of Mexicans with several burros loaded with wood. 

 They told us they had passed our team some distance back 

 going directly from us. 



Writing a note to the driver, teUing him Avhere to meet 

 us, we gave one of the Mexicans $2 to overtake him and 

 deliver it. Then taking a turn into the nearest azoyo we 

 were soon among the quad again, having good sport. At 

 the expiration of two hours we concluded that it was 

 time for us to be at the rendezvous. We were tired and 

 hungry; but when we reached the meeting place no team 

 was in sight and for the next hour we waited in vain. 

 Approaching the nearest Mexican ranch we asked for 

 sometliing to eat. 



We were soon consoling ourselves as bes we could with 

 a meal of chile con came, tortillas and rye coffe, with 

 thoughts reverting to the nice lunch our wives had pre- 

 pared for us, and which we had carefully placed imder 

 the wagon seat. This was but an introduction to our 

 troubles, however. 



We could obtain no conveyance of any description at 

 this ranch, and when the last shafts of sunlight were 

 growing dim in the western horizon we took up our 

 weary homeward march. Our feet were blistered and our 

 guns.and game bags were a grievous load. 



Soon it grew intensely dark, and as the road was rough 

 we would lurch from one side of the track to the other, 

 groaning audibly. After tramping twelve miserable 

 miles we reached the little town of Agua Frio, where we 

 found every one in bed stnd every Mexican cur in the 

 village at our heels. 



We finally roused a Mexican who could not speak 

 English and who was so srispicious of our appearance that 

 he would not let us cross his threshold. Managing finally 

 to make him vmderstand that we wanted to find some 

 one who could "talk United States," he took us down a 

 back alley, over several wood ftiles and old wagons, to an 

 adobe, where, after much rapping, we were able to hear 

 signs of life within. 



The sparks from the chimney soon gave evidence that 

 some one was poking the logs in the fireplace, and the 

 door wag thi-own open and we were bidden to enter. 

 Qn pallets tjirown upon the 4oor we?» i^dren and two 



