136 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 18, 1894. 
full height of the rise to the upper plateau, and hence at 
an elevation quite sufficient to see unfolded much of 
the glories of the inner Park, whose peaks and canons 
now seemed grouped and composed for our special bene- 
fit. In the center stood the great gleaming peak of Mt. 
"Washburn, which from the opposite side of the Park we 
had seen before, always central and commanding. It was 
as if this mother mountain stretched out her hands to 
bless the heads of small mountains, who crowded up 
about her knees. To oblige us, the sun came out 
gloriously, and lit up the whole majestic landscape 
with a light more . brilliant than ever yet fell on any 
artist's studio, or than ever yet had reflection on any 
human canvas. The artist who could paint this compell- 
ing brilliance would be derided as gone wild. If he 
should paint the purples of the mountain sunrise and sun- 
set as deep as they really are, he wouM be denied cre- 
dence and called a cheap pretender at effect. Thousands 
of artists have been drawn to the mountains and have 
tried to show them in their more friendly moods. I do 
not know of any artist who has ever attempted to depict 
the great range in the depth of winter. He who tries it 
will try in vain. He cannot catch this serene fatef ulness, 
this terrible calm, this supreme indifference to Life and 
Time. The mountains are infinite. Study the differen- 
tial calculus, and when you get to the end of the indeter- 
minate equation, you may know the meaning of the 
mountains and so be able to portray their thought. I 
could imagine an artist going insane should he sit day 
after day trying to fathom the meaning of the mountains, 
always different, always the same, always beckoning in- 
different, fascinating, terrible, immutable, calm. The 
mountains are at peace. They have outgrown change. 
The bestowing upon them of human names is indignity. 
Mt. Washburn, we say! Who was Mr. Washburn, and 
who will he be? But if we should call this enduring 
monumen the Mount of Supreme Calm or the Mount of 
the Ultimate Rest, we might at least please the Indians, 
who have better taste and more delicacy than we in many 
ways — less compliment to us. 
More and More Elk. 
It took us only a short time to slide down to Yancey's, 
and pausing there only for lunch we set on further east 
toward Junction Butte, that high mesa-topped elevation 
which masks the union of the main Yellowstone and the 
East Fork. Woody did not go with us in the afternoon, 
but he told us we would see plenty of elk all through that 
section. We certainly did so. I counted twenty-one 
bands of elk to the left of our trail to the Butte. The 
whole country was full of elk. There were elk on Speci- 
men Ridge. There were elk on top of Junction Butte. 
The East Fork valley was full of elk. The main valley of 
the Yellowstone showed band after band. They were so 
common that they almost ceased to interest us. They 
were in greater numbers than I ever saw cattle on any 
range. There were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds 
of them, how many in all I shall not say, because accu- 
rate count was an impossibility. The snow was now 
breaking up sufficiently to allow the elk to get about with 
comparative ease, and there was even a considerable 
amount of ground almost bare, though not so much over 
here as we had seen on the north side of the river in the 
morning. We found that the elk could easily get feed all 
through this section, and also discovered that they could 
easily keep out of our way so that we could not get a good 
shot with the camera. The slopes were too long and open 
to give much chance for stalking. We were rarely closer 
than a quarter of a mile to the game. 
The Center of the Winter Range. 
We found the Yellowstone a grand, powerful stream 
at Baronette's Bridge,, where we crossed it. From Yan- 
cey's the Junction Butte did not look to be across the 
Yellowstone, but we found it a comfortable climb on the 
other side. It was quite a sharp climb up the last escarp- 
ment, but for some reason the butte was barer at the top 
than lower down, and we got up, carrying our skis. A 
watchful old cow elk, which Billy anathematized cheer- 
fully a dozen times as we were climbing up, stood on the 
edge of fthe mesa and spied upon us, so that we could get 
no stalk on the band which was feeding on the top; 
though we got up within 100yds. of a small bunch which 
were lying down on some bare ground, and which 
ambled off easily down the steep side of the butte as we 
came into view on top. 
From the top of junction Butte we had a view only 
short of that of the morning, so far as the quantity of 
game was concerned. We could with the glasses com- 
mand a great range of country. A great many elk, 
startled by our coming, were running across the snowy 
valley below us, making for the timber beyond. Along 
the main river there were many large bands feeding 
without thought of danger and we had all the opportunity 
in the world to see the wild animals at home. 
We discovered that the elk were breaking up into small 
bands of cows and spikes. The bull elk were beginning 
to shed their horns. We saw only two bulls with horns 
that afternoon. We found dropped elk horns on top of 
Junction Butte. 
We were now fairly in the center of the main winter 
range of the elk. We make no claim to have covered all 
of it, nor half of it. We saw it was not necesary. 
We had learned all we wished and felt that our work was 
practically done. We could have duplicated these sights 
of game hour after hour on up the East Fork country 
toward Soda Butte, but knew that it was needless. 
The shoeing was now growing soft. The snow was 
going fast at the bottom and settling. Uncle John Yan- 
cey thought the break-up would soon come if the snow 
was melting below. 
We saw many horses wintering in this part of the Park. 
They cannot winter in the Upper Park, and neither can 
elk, except in certain portions. The horses were on the 
segregation strip. 
Five Thousand Elk North of the Segregation Line. 
I asked Woody dirpctly how many elk he thought there 
were wintering wholly on the country which would be 
cut of by the proposed railroad. He said, after thought, 
"At least 5,000." I offer the figures given, let me repeat, 
as to the head of game, not as my own, but as those of 
better authorities. I believe them to be correct. 
Caught in a Mountain Storm. 
had taken such a fancy to Uncle John and Woody 
that I didn't want to go home at all, but had a notion to 
just quit my accustomed life and finish out the living 
business right here in this quiet and beautiful corner of 
the mountains — a spirit of rebellion which is sure to strike 
me every time I go into the mountains. But we all de- 
cided to pull out for the Post Monday morning, April 2. 
Billy set this date conditionally, as there were threats of a 
storm which might stop us. When the morning came, 
Billy did not want to start, for he could see by looking at 
the tops of the peaks about us that it was storming up 
above, even though in sheltered Pleasant Valley it all 
seemed quiet and peaceful. It looked like a bad snow, 
Billy said, and he advised holding up for the day. We 
would much better have taken this advice, as indeed most 
of Billy's advice on such matters, but I was getting un- 
easy about being so long in the Park, and besides was 
afraid Capt. Anderson would send out a team to the Gar- 
diner hill to meet us, in which case I thought we ought 
to be there. I therefore insisted on a start, and that we 
did , though Billy was none too willing. 
For some reasons I am glad we did start, because I got 
a chance at the one remaining mountain experience 
which we needed to complete the eventfulness of our 
journey. I had heard of the storms of this region, 
whose violence and intensity were such that the traveler 
was entirely bewildered and forced to stop where he 
was, unahle to tell the points of the compass or to see 
any landmark. Of course, I had read all about Dakota 
blizzards and I had been in a blizzard on the Western 
plains hard enough to "drift" all the range cattle for 
fifty miles, but I could not say that I had ever seen a 
blizzard quite bad enough to warrant the timidity which 
all these mountain men seemed to feel about the storms 
up in the Park. Billy seemed to think that being caught 
in a storm was about the only real danger there was in 
this winter voyaging, but that one thing would always 
make him serious. He was serious as we said good-bye 
at Yancey's and started up the first hill. At that time 
there were a few flakes of snow falling. 
When we topped the first pitch and reached the ledge, 
from which we could almost toss a stone down on the 
cabin roof below, our few flakes of snow had become a 
few thousand and we saw that the storm was coming. 
We pressed on for a quarter of a mile, perhaps, and the 
storm thickened so fast that we could hardly see. 
"Have you got enough of it," Billy asked, "or do you 
want to go ahead?" 
"Go on ahead," I said, "it can't snow this way very 
long." Billy grunted and went on. I could not see him 
30ft. ahead of me. The trail of his skis filled almost as 
fast as he passed. We made the top of still another little 
hill. It seemed only to reach another level of the storm. 
Raising my head, I tried to look ahead, half-blinded, but 
all of which I could become conscious was an advancing 
wall of thick, smothering white. There was no land- 
scape. I could not see a tree. The trail had no sides, no 
end. There was no distance, no direction. Everything 
was swallowed up in an eddying, whirling, impenetrable 
mask of snow. There was no atmosphere. It had all 
turned to snow. 
"Have you got enough?" Billy asked again, calmly. 
"No!" I said, idiotically proud and ashamed to go back. 
"Go ahead. We'll hole up over the next hill and wait till 
it blows over." 
Billy was dead game, and once more turned forward. I 
suppose we went to the foot of the next hill. I lost him 
in the snow, and could only keep the trail by looking close 
down at my feet. The snow was damp, and came down 
in sheets rather than in flakes, I never knew before how 
snow could fall. We were all wet through in a few 
moments. We could see nothing and hear nothing. At 
every breath I was learning how a fellow could get lost 
in the mountains, how in a storm like this, which might 
last for days, he would lose all sense of direction and 
wander he knew not whither; how he would become 
wet through; how he would chill in the cold following 
the snow; how he would try to build a shelter and per- 
haps fail, perhaps succeed; how at last he would sit down 
by his little fire, perhaps, and give up, and be buried by 
the snow and perhaps never seen again, even though close 
to the trail. These things I thought of before we got to 
to the next hill. We never got over it. I met Billy com- 
ing back down the trail. 
"We can't go on," he said, decisively. "It's simply aw- 
ful up there. Hurry on back to Yancey's now, fast as you 
can, before the trail fills up." 
At once we did what I ought to have been willing to do 
at first, and turned back down the trail. We were not 
much too soon. Our trail made coming up was blotted 
out entirely. The deeper ridges of the old trails were all 
that showed us the way, and these we could only follow 
by looking close down at our feet. Without this aid, 
Yancey's might as well have been a dozen miles away as 
half a mile. When we got to the ridge above the houses 
we could not see their roofs. The whole valley was full 
of blinding, driving, suffocating snow. The trail took us 
to the door. 
We spent the rest of the day drying out. I had seen a 
mountain storm. I cannot describe the helplessness in 
which it leaves the traveler. The sM party caught in such 
a storm at night might have an awkward time of it. Even 
nerve and good woodsmanship might not get them 
through. The length of the storm would have everything 
to do with their safety. No one not familiar with these 
mountains can have any idea of the character of such a 
storm, or understand the great depth to which snow can 
fall in a single night. Words give no idea of such a situ- 
ation as that of being caught by such a storm. When you 
go into the mountains you go into a region of large dis- 
tances, large value, laive impressions. But the mountains 
in summer do but dimly shadow forth the mountains of 
the winter. 
Tried it Again. 
Tuesday morning we tried it again. Nature had whirled 
her weather wheel again. The wet snow was frozen into 
a solid crust. We did not use the skis, but walked more 
than half the distance of the climb up to the Devil's Gut. 
The morning was bright and clear and we had some glo- 
rious mountain views as we looked back on our climb 
near the summit. In the middle of the day the shoeing 
was not good, but Billy hit out an awful pace, and we 
made good time. At the Blacktail Greek- we stopped for 
lunch and fixed up the skis. The snow here was very 
deep (the drift on the side of the creek was about 30ft. 
deep), but with his usual ingenuity Billy got a fire, this 
time on top of a fallen log, and we were happy over our 
lunch. 
Still Among the Elk. 
All the way in, especially from Geode Creek to the top 
of the Gardiner Hill, we saw great numbers of elk. I 
counted twenty-six bands, numbering hundreds in all. 
There were few bulls. We had a good time with one 
solitary bull, a great fellow with a fine set of antlers, 
which kept along in sight of us for some time. We saw 
one little band of old bulls together. One grand band of 
elk crossed our trail not 100yds. ahead of us, giving us 
the prettiest and closest view of elk I had in the Park. 
There were about seventy-five head in the bunch and they 
joined another band of perhaps twice that number in a 
hollow not far to the right of the trail. We could see 
little scattered bunches of elk all over the hills to the right 
of us, there seeming to be more over toward the Yellow- 
stone than on the south side of the trail, though we saw 
many there also. We saw no other game but elk, except 
one band of blacktail deer, which we trailed for some 
time along the road at the foot of the Gardiner Hill, and 
at length saw them leisurely making off up the side of 
Mt. Everts. There were fifteen of the deer, I believe. We 
saw these within three miles of the Post. 
Tierra Caliente. 
The run of the Gardiner Hill was an affair more laugh- 
able than serious. Hunt, the sojer man, went down first, 
and as the hill is a sort of corkscrew affair, Billy and I 
had several good views of him sliding on his back. Some 
of the pitches were pretty steep, and Billy and I inglori- 
ously sat down on our skis and slid that way. I suppose 
we slid over a mile in that manner. Then we came to a 
warmer climate, the tierra caliente of the level of the 
Mammoth Hot Springs, and the going became soft, then 
slushy, then muddy. We put the skis over our shoulders, 
and began the laborious climb of the Post Hill. Hardly 
had we begun it when we came upon the ambulance and 
mule team which Capt. Anderson had kindly sent out to 
meet us. The 20-mile journey, our last ski trip in the 
Park, was over. We learned that the storm of the day 
before had been so severe that Capt. Anderson had not 
sent out the team at all, rightly believing that we could 
not travel on such a day. Gauging our speed of travel to 
a nicety, he made a two minutes' connection with the am- 
bulance and our party on this day. Of such is the accur- 
acy of the military judgment and philosophy, which in 
matters of this sort is based primarily on the theory that 
a fellow isn't a fool, and that every fellow knows how to 
take care of himself. 
Would be a Soldier. 
Once more we met Capt. Anderson's hearty greeting, 
and once more I sank into the pleasant life at the Post, 
Capt. Anderson explaining that there wouldn't be a train 
out from Cinnabar till the next Saturday, and no stage 
after the stage of Wednesday to which he didn't intend 
to send any ambulance anyhow, and to which I could, 
if I preferred, walk and carry my war bag. I concluded 
to take his reiterated and cheerful advice that I would 
just as well be calm and keep on my raiment. I think 
he had an eye out for recruits, for I found it so fascinat- 
ing at the Post that I came near enlisting for a sojer. I 
would yet, if I could be sure the trumpets would always 
continue to make my shoulder-blades creep and that Capt. 
Anderson would always continue in , immediate com- 
mand. E. Hough. 
909 Security BuiLDrNci, Chicago. 
[TO BE CONCLUDED.] 
A FLORIDA " HAPPY FAMILY." 
Our happy family consists of one gopher, one pair of 
doves, one pair of quail, a group of five jays, and three 
cats. 
The gopher comes out of his retirement in the scrub 
once a day only, about noon, for his frugal repast, which 
as a general rule consists of grass, and he often comes up 
to the verandah, as it grows more luxuriantly there than 
elsewhere. It is interesting to note how this awkward 
animal manages to satisfy his appetite, and then waddles 
away to his retreat. His habit is entirely regular, and 
the time of his appearance does not vary more than an 
horn- each day. 
The doves, known generally as mourning doves, from 
their melancholy note, are as familiar as chickens, as are 
also the quail, whose brood has probably fallen victims to 
a wildcat's raid. 
The jays are among the most interesting members of 
the family. Except the days which, according to the 
tradition of the colored people, they spend in sheol, and 
so are necessarily absent, they take good care to be both 
seen and heard. A water dish is kept for them on the 
verandah, where they can drink and bathe to their heart's 
content, often with the cats lying but a few feet away. 
As they do everything with many expressions of what 
they wish, signified in most emphatic bird language, it 
seems strange that the cats should remain indifferent; but 
I take it that the cats, observing their entire f amiliarity 
with all the family, consider them as chickens and so not 
to be molested. They are ever ready to take pieces of 
cake or crackers out of one's band, and are altogether the 
most naturally tame birds I have ever seen. They have 
the air of owning the earth, and are not at all chary of 
expressing their disapproval of matters that are not ac- 
cording to their notions. 
Their intelligence is well illustrated by the following in- 
cident: A young lady living near us, who had been 
accustomed to feeding a number of jays from her hand, 
one day in a spirit of mischief suddenly closed her hand 
and held one of them a prisoner by his feet for a few 
moments before letting him go. After this, not only not 
the one caught but none of the rest of the flock could 
ever be induced to come near her again. As she said, 
' 'He must have told all the rest." 
Their immunity from the cats is rather remarkable, for 
the family, consisting of the mother and two half -grown 
kittens, are all very lively, and the mother is one of the 
most successful hunters I have ever known, in fact keep- 
ing her kittens so well supplied with rats that they are 
never hungry. But she seems to have come to the con- 
clusion that the birds frequenting the immediate vicinity 
of the house are not to be disturbed. 
These cats in another way show very clearly the force 
