the worst of winters." 
He was right. 
Game, Dick said, was abundant. There were a few 
elk and grizzly bears up on Armell's Creek, plenty of 
mule deer in the breaks, several bands of antelope on 
the nearby plains. There were some whitetail in the bot- 
toms, but many had died during the summer. He had 
found eight in the timber near by. "But," he continued, 
"this isn't going to last; there is a Cree half-breed outfit 
living on the next bottom below here, and last winter they 
killed over two hundred deer, to say nothing of other 
game. In the fall all they bought to winter on was twenty 
sacks of flour; no bacon, no beans, no sugar, nothing else. 
So you may know that they came pretty near living on 
meat straight. Of course, they couldn't have eaten two 
hundred deer ; they kill a large number for their skins 
and for wolf baits. I saw a great many carcasses they 
had poisoned. Yes, they've pretty well cleaned up the 
beaver about here. I saw the old man floating by on a 
raft yesterday, and he had something covered with his 
blankets; beaver skins, I suppose." 
I remarked that I had found moccasin tracks around 
some beaver workings not far above. 
The Kings insisted that we should remain with them a 
week at least. But winter was due at any time, and much 
as we would have liked to accept their hospitality, we 
pushed on the next morning. Passing the location of the 
Cree half-breeds, we saw the patriarch of them all squat- 
ting upon his heels at the edge of the bank, ragged, un- 
kempt, black of skin, his long hair cut square around 
like a mop. I felt like trying the effect of a squaie-nosed 
bullet upon his anatomy. "Dogface!" said Sah-ne-to, 
"why has the Great Father forbidden my people to make 
further war upon them? They were ever our warriors' 
legitimate pray. They have no place, no right in this 
country." t . 
A strong breeze was blowing again this morning, and 
we made the eleven miles to the mouth of Little Rocky 
Creek in less than two hours. This stream heads in 
the Little Rocky Mountains, twenty-five miles north of 
the river. Hunting buffalo on its headwaters once with 
the noted shot, Eli Guardipee, we found in a park in the 
foothills two large bull elk, their antlers firmly inter- 
locked. They had been dead so short a time that the 
wolves had not touched them. For many yards around 
them the turf had been tramped so that scarce a blade 
of grass was left, and there they must have stood for 
days, suffering agonies from thirst and want of food, 
although the grassy plain was all around them and the 
cool mountain stream but a few yards distant. We cut 
off their heads, of course, antlers and all, and got them 
into the post on a hastily constructed sledge. Ultimately 
they came into the possession of Dr. C. Hart Merriam, 
who has kindly loaned them to the National Museum in 
Washington. 
From the mouth of Little Rocky Creek a further sail 
of eight miles brought us to the Carroll bottom, where 
we had held forth in other days. I could hardly recognize 
the place. Where our post had once stood was now the 
north side of the river, and several hundred yards back 
in the brush and young cottonwoods, which had grown 
up in the ninetee'n years since we had abandoned it. We 
lowered the sail and went ashore. Midway in the bottom 
a coulee comes in from the distant breaks, and at its 
mouth I had once killed some buffalo. "We will go over 
there," I said to Sah-ne-to, "and take a couple of the 
skulls. I would like to keep them as a memento of old 
times." 
Well I remember that hazy, smoky morning in the 
rutting season, when, arising soon after daylight, I heard 
the moaning of the impassioned bulls back in the breaks. 
No one in the post was astir. The few lodges of Crees 
and Blackfeet near by were silent. I picked up my 
rifle, thrust a handful of extra cartridges into my pocket 
and slipped over to the coulee, meeting the herd just this 
side of it. Some of the animals ran back in the direction 
whence they came; others dashed down into the deep 
coulee and up the steep trail on the other side, which 
would admit of but one climbing at a time. There, just 
as'they gained the opposite level. I dropped nine of them, 
bulls and cows. The last one was a cow, and when it fell 
its calf stopped and stood by it, and butted it in the 
side in a vain attempt to reach the teats. Then I hated 
myself. At least, I thought, the meat shall not be wasted, 
and returning to the lodges I routed the occupants out 
and told them to butcher the animals and divide the meat 
and hides as they saw fit. 
Arrived at the coulee, we crossed it and a glance over 
the ground convinced us that we would not find what 
we sought. To say nothing of skulls, not even a bone 
was left to show that a buffalo had ever fallen there. 
The wash from the hills had buried them, or, per- 
chance, they had been shipped by some gatherer of bones 
ere the streams finally ceased running on the upper river. 
We retraced our steps and sat down near the boat to eat 
our lunch. 
The pleasantest years of my life were passed at this 
place. From September until spring thousands of In- 
dians, Bloods, Blackfeet and Crees, were continually 
coming and going, coming in to trade their robes and 
furs, going out to hunt for more. One winter we traded 
for a few more than four thousand robes, seven hundred 
raw hides, twenty-three hundred small skins — elk, deer 
and antelope — six hundred wolf and coyote pelts and 
some three hundred beaver skins. Also for great quan- 
tities of pemmican and dried meat. I forget the weight, 
but remember that it was stacked up in long piles like 
cordwood. That was the winter we got the spotted robe. 
The animal, an unusually large cow buffalo, was killed 
by a young Blackfoot one day when Mr. Jos. Kipp, the 
owner of our trading outfit, happened to be in the camp. 
When skinned and spread out on the ground, the hide 
was found to have a border of pure white a foot deep 
all around. The head and tail were also white, and 
there was a large, round, white spot on each flank. The 
young hunter gave it to his father and mother, and they 
promised Mr. Kipp that he should have it in due time. 
The old woman tanned it as soft as ever robe was tanned, 
and the old man painted upon the flesh side in brilliant 
colors the record of his battles, his "coups," and wonder- 
ful medicines. Then the proud couple brought it in and 
showed it to us, and also to two rival traders. "Be 
no afraid," they said to us, "we promised you the robe, 
and will do as we say; but we will keep it a little while." 
FOH&ST AND STREAM. 
Both of the other traders wanted it, of course, and for 
weeks and weeks kept the old people supplied with 
whisky and tobacco and other things prized by the In- 
dians. And each one of them was sure that he was going 
to get it, and bragged about it; but both were pilgrims,- 
and did not know the red man's ways. One day in the 
spring, true to their word, the old couple came in and 
threwthe robe over our counter. "There 'tis," the old 
man said, "to-morrow we start for the North. We've 
had a real good time with it." 
We gave them about fifty dollars worth of goods. A 
month later a Montreal man traveling through the coun- 
try heard of the robe, had the steamer he was on stop at 
our place and bought -it. I wonder if he still has it? 
Does any Montreal reader know some one who has a 
spotted robe? 
The Indians seldom traded after nightfall, but on win- 
ter evenings our trade room was a general lounging place 
for the chiefs and old men, and many an interesting tale 
they told as they sat around the stove and smoked and 
supped the spirits we occasionally set out. Tales of 
war, of the chase, and of their life on the plains. Tales 
of the doings of their gods, of the creation, of the life 
hereafter, all of which was interesting to one person at 
least, who wished to know just what an Indian really 
thought and believed. 
During the long summers, when all furs and robes were 
valueless, we had nothing to do. The arrival of a steam- 
boat now and then with our mail was the only thing to 
break the monotony of the days. How often we used to 
climb to the top of the long hill to look for the smoke 
rising above the trees away down the valley, which 
heralded one's approach. 
One familiar landmark on the bottom is a gnarled old 
Cottonwood far back of where our trading post once 
stood; the river has eaten in nearly to its base, and an- 
other season it too will topple into the flood. I have 
good reason to remember it. The "Big-eared White- 
man," the old-time trader, was with us. During his long 
life on the plains he had never killed a buffalo, nor any 
other game for that matter; he cared nothing for the 
chase. But one day, seeing an old buffalo bull coming 
through the bottom, he picked up a .44 carbine and said 
he guessed he would kill it. Forth he went, and we sat 
on the shady side of the building and watched him. The 
bull was feeding along, and every time it stopped to crop 
a mouthful of grass he slipped up nearer to it, until he 
got within fifty or seventy yards of the beast, all un- 
conscious of his approach. Then he raised his carbine 
and shot it, not through the heart, as he intended, but 
through the paunch. The next instant, snorting with 
rage and pain, the bull was after him. and dropping his 
gun, he ran to the old Cottonwood, grasped its mighty 
trunk, some four feet in diameter, and frantically tried to 
climb it, an utter impossibility, of course. On came the 
bull, and he dodged behind the tree, and for some mo- 
ments the two played tag around its base, the trader 
shouting for help, for some one to kill the blankety- 
blank beast. But the spectators were having too much 
fun to heed his entreaties until they saw that he was 
nearly exhausted, and then one of them dropped the bull 
with a well-directed shot. 
Beside the Indians, we did a large trade with the 
French-Cree half-breeds, who had come from the Sas- 
katchewan, Red River, and other parts of Canada, to 
follow the buffalo. It was here that their leader, Louis 
Riel, began preparations for the rebellion of 1885. He 
was a cold, calculating, suave and educated half-breed, 
but withal fanatical and lacking in good, plain sense. 
There was a Jesuit priest with us, and both he and others 
told Riel that his handful of men could not possibly whip 
the Canadian troops, to say nothing of the thousands 
Great Britain would put into the field if necessary. "You 
do not understand," he would reply. "We are like the 
children of Israel of old, a persecuted race. God is with 
us, and will lead us to a great and glorious victory." 
A few years later the Red Coats hung him. 
There were then some wild and desperate men here in 
these bad lands, especially Big-Nose George and Dutch 
John's gangs of horse thieves and murderers. Just 
where their strongholds were we never asked nor learned. 
They occasionally came to our post and purchased pro- 
visions, and we always felt relieved when they departed. 
Most likely the reason they never held us up was that 
they knew we seldom kept any cash on hand, our trade 
being almost entirely in robes and furs. And again, they, 
had to obtain provisions somewhere, and we sold to 
them and asked no questions. We didn't dare to. 
One day a member of one of these gangs was standing 
in the doorway of our post as a young Cree and his wife 
were sauntering by. t "See me plunk the Indian," he 
said, and leveling his "gun," he shot the poor fellow 
through the kidneys. It was well for him that the Crees 
were all out after buffalo at that time! 
The priest ministered to the poor Indian's spiritual 
wants, and I filled him up with whisky to relieve the 
pain, and we gave him the best send off we could; but 
for many a day I could not forget the cruel act. That 
was the only Indian I ever saw killed in cold blood. 
About 2 o'clock, having finished our lunch, we again 
set sail and ran around the point of the bottom, past the 
heavy growth of timber and willows, where Lonce had 
another experience with buffalo one day. We were out 
of meat, there were no Indians around, so I was ap- 
pointed to furnish some. I sallied forth down the bot- 
tom to look for deer, and was walking along the edge of 
the timber, when I saw a buffalo cow pass into a growth 
of thick willows, and out of sight before I could shoot. 
I followed, and presently saw -her rubbing against a tree, 
and promptly dropped her where she stood. But I wasn't 
prepared for the effect of the shot. Unknown to me, 
there were several hundred buffalo out on the shore of 
the river, and at the crack of the rifle they came rushing 
back peli-mell through the willows, regardless of trails. 
I had barely time to get behind a small Cottonwood, 
when they began to rush by, many so close that I could 
have reached out and touched them, but I hugged the 
tree and kept mum and in a minute they all passed. The 
way they tore down brush and crashed through the thick 
willows was something remarkable. Had I not, for- 
tunately, been close to a tree, it is likely they would have 
trampled me into the earth. 
It was here, too, that my friend Guardipee had a close- 
call from a grizzly. He had been down the valley hunt- 
£45 
. ■— ■ ■ - '"TtFi'iliiri-i — n — 1 — — 
ing, and was returning with a big mule deer fastened on 
behind his saddle, when he ran across a big bear at the 
edge of the timber and shot it. Although the bullet 
pierced its lungs, the bear took after him, and the pony, 
handicapped by its heavy load, could not get over the 
ground nearly as fast as the enraged animal. Ely had 
time to fire but once, missing, when the bear was right at 
the pony's heels, and with a swipe of its claws badly 
lacerated one of its haunches and legs; but luckily his 
next shot struck the animal fairly in the brain, and the 
short, but exciting, run was over. It was the largest 
female grizzly I ever saw, and very fat. We got twelve 
gallons of oil from it. 
We soon passed the familiar place which had revived 
so many memories of other days, and turning a bend 
bid it good-by. For the rest of the afternoon the wind 
was changeable, and we finally tied up at Ryan's Island, 
named after an old "woodhawk,." and camped, having 
made twenty-seven miles since leaving King's ranche. 
Appekunn Y. 
Life in the Forest. 
In the black growth there was silence, gloom and 
mystery. The deep shadows were broken only here and 
there by splotches of light, where the sun thrust lance- 
like rays between the tops where a tree had been touched 
by the lightning's sharp finger. The pine needles and 
spruce spills that silted down made a soft carpet for 
sharp hoofs or padded foot. It also made still going for 
moccasined feet. 
A man was moving slowly through the woods, stepping 
over logs and twigs that might cry aloud. He took but 
few steps at a time, and then stood for minutes looking 
ahead toward the wind. An hour passed and he had 
walked a quarter of a mile. Then he stood stock still 
five, ten, fifteen minutes, his eyes on one spot, 100 yards 
away. He had seen motion there. He waited, knowing 
that as long as he remained quiet the advantage was his. 
Then slowly he raised his rifle and steadied his sights 
just ahead of the spot. Then in behind a group of fallen 
trees he saw a quick glimmer of white, and a doe and 
fawn walked into more open growth. The man lowered 
his rifle and watched them. 
The fawn was feeding on the tender shoots that had 
sprung up in the old tree-laps, but the doe held her head 
tip, and from time to time took a nervous step forward. 
She could not smell the man, for she was up the wind. 
She had heard no sound, she had seen no motion. The 
man knew that she "sensed" him. He also knew that the 
slightest motion on his part would send doe and fawn 
away in a dash for cover. The doe looked up the- wind 
and drew long breaths through her delicate nostrils, but 
no danger signals came from there. She turned her head 
and looked steadily at the man, but he never moved. 
Then she moistened her nose with her long pink tongue 
and tried to get a scent from down the wind. Now and 
again she raised and shook out her plume of white as if 
proud of it and anxious that every hair should hang 
and show to the best advantage. The man smiled at this 
feminine vanity, and when the deer turned toward him 
again he waved his hand to her and watched the white 
tails flash up and fade away in the deep green shadows. 
As he was about to go his eyes caught motion and 
another glimpse of white 20 feet away in a tangle of small 
down trees. A second's wait and a little pink nose and 
two very bright eyes were lifted over the top of a small 
log only 10 feet away. Then the newcomer placed his 
white kid gloves on the log and lifted himself for a 
better look. It was a weasel, and all his summer coat 
had gone save a small patch of brown on his back. His 
new winter suit was snow white, thick, soft and warm. 
He looked fearlessly at the man, and his attitude and 
manner said: 
"Well, what do you want here? If it's a fight, you shall 
have it right now," and his eyes shone with a diabolical 
gleam. After a minute the weasel turned away and melted 
from view. Then the man called him back. The call 
brought a red fox to the edge of a thicket 50 yards away, 
but the man only caught a fleeting glimpse of him. It 
also awoke a venerable owl hidden in an old hollow pine 
far overhead, who arose and opened his eyes wide, but 
quickly closed them, fluffed up his feathers, shook his 
head and sank back into his cell. 
In the black forest other ears heard and other eyes 
looked, for the predatory ones are all fond of w. "od mice. 
The wise little weasel turned his head to one side, looked 
suspiciously at the man and then again, became invisible. 
Out in the beech grove in the warm sunshine there 
was life and activity. The man walked down the ridge, 
the brown leaves rustling noisily under foot. He came 
to a beech tree, full grown and in its prime, which 
had borne a generous crop, but was now doomed to die. 
Stooping, he examined the great bare death wound at 
.the foot of the beech and straightened up with an angry 
.exclamation. There was a complete girdle around the 
tree where an idle porcupine had breakfasted. 
'.. "He couldn't have climbed up and eaten the bark off 
a limb, but had to kill a bearing tree," the man was mut- 
tering as he scanned the tops of the tall trees. 
"Strange I don't see him. It's his last breakfast if I 
do." The man was looking at the black splotches high up 
on a tall poplar, but his eye did not detect the hedge- 
hog hugging close to the tree, looking like a dead limb, 
not even a twinkling eyelid to betray him. The stupid 
creature seemed for once to be alert and to realize that 
death stood below. 
Not far away the man found a comfortable seat where 
the forks of a fallen poplar had straddled a big yellow 
birch, and the combination made a luxurious seat, with 
foot rest and comfortable back. For ten minutes there 
was not movement in the leaves below or he bare limbs 
overhead. 
Far up in the tree tops on the side of the ridge the 
wild cackle of a pileated woodpecker rudely disturbed trie 
silence of the wood. Just a flash of his bright red cap 
and the "cock of the woods" was away in long, undu- 
lating flight across the valley. 
Then a red squirrel came out from nowhere and jumped 
on the down poplar. He ran with stiff-legged, springy 
jumps up the tree trunk, until he was within a vard 
of the man, then gave a wild squeal and with tail lla.tened 
out like a rusty streak he scooted back only to approach 
again with great caution. He ran out on a small limb 
