104 
1’ O K K S T A \ D S 1' R E A M 
March, 1919 
I T was a long, hard trip that morning, 
but I was well repaid for it. A coyote 
and a lynx were the result of the 
morning’s catch. When the weather was 
not too cold, Bert would skin the catch 
on the spot; however, if it were too cold, 
he would throw it over his shoulder and 
continue on the “line.” It must be re- 
membered that a coyote weighs any- 
where between thirty to fifty pounds. 
But that is nothing to him. I have seen 
him return with three coyotes over his 
shoulders at a time ; I have seen him 
carry a stove weighing a hundred 
pounds a mile without a single stop to 
rest. He can pick a log from the ground 
and shoulder it, and carry it a hundred 
yards — a log that the writer could not 
lift clear of the ground. He glories in 
his strength; told me he never saw a 
day of sickness in his life; says that 
outdoor life, the sunshine and the moun- 
tains are his medicines — the simple tonics 
that God made for his people — and for 
my people. I inherit a love for the 
freedom of the out of doors. I never 
felt better than I do now after a month 
spent thus. Pure mountain air, sunshine 
and exercise is all that the “run-down” 
city man needs! 
I have kept a diary of the events that 
occurred during my stay at the cabin, 
which are of great value in writing this 
article. I remained there two weeks, 
and, while I accompanied Bert to hit 
traps nearly every other morning, I gen- 
erally remained at the cabin, attending 
to the cooking, dishwashing, water car- 
a pocket gun. The thrill, the expectancy 
of getting a shot at big game, as well 
as the possibility of an attack, makes 
the blood tingle through one’s veins. 
T O the East of the cabin the great 
plains spread as far as the eye can 
reach. From the roof there is an 
unobstructed view, and it was my habit 
to climb up and watch Bert as he visited 
his traps, using powerful bioculars. In 
case he made a catch he would signaj 
me, then I would hasten to where he was, 
then, after taking a picture of the catch. 
the bright and varied colors of the moun- 
tains, their summits crowned with a 
diadem of snow, is something that I can- 
not give adequate expression to. In my 
younger days I was considered a good 
singer. Right there, with no one within 
five miles of the cabin, was the place to 
cultivate that reputation. A favorite 
song of mine is “Bring Back My Darling 
to Me.” Never a day went by but what 
that song echoed through those ancient 
hills and valleys. Bert told me that one 
morning he heard me singing three miles 
away. A word will repeat itself a dozen 
Bert, the half-breed, and his catch of two weeks 
The trapper’s camp in the foothills of the Rockies 
Tying and the many other things asso- 
ciated with life in the mountains. I 
usually kept the table well supplied with 
rabbit meat, as they were quite plentiful 
in the scrub oak that surrounded the 
cabin. It must be remembered that rab- 
bit hunting in the West is different than 
ii\ the East. Here one is liable to come 
across a bear, mountain lion or lynx, 
and, for that reason, the hunter must 
be prepared for just such an emergency. 
Besides carrying my sixteen-gauge shot 
gran, the right barrel loaded with No. 
5 shot, and the left with BB, I 
carry an old .46, and a lighter .38 as 
would return to the cabin. To the west 
the view is shut out by the rugged 
Rockies, old Cheyenne mountain looming 
high above the others, forming an un- 
broken chain reaching into New Mexico. 
I studied those great mountains every 
(lay, and every time that I looked they 
seemed changed. Far to the south, from 
the roof of the cabin, one can see the 
Sangre de Cristo Range, in New Mexico. 
(Sangre de Cristo is Mexican meaning 
“Blood of Christ.”) The view is in- 
describable! Would that I were a poet. 
Great spruce and pine, garbed in their 
eternal green, broken here and there by 
times ere it dies away into silence. 
During those two weeks at the cabin 
we caught seventeen coyotes and two 
lynx. Conditions were not favorable, so 
Bert finally decided he would move out 
to what is known as the “Little Bad 
Lands,” fifteen miles east of Colorado 
Springs. This place is all that its name 
implies. Some great upheaval of Na- 
ture had thrown great mountains of 
loose rocks together, leaving deep canons 
and arroyos in every direction. These 
rocks formed natural refuges for the 
lives of the hunted. We left the cabin 
in the mountains and arrived at the 
“Little Bad Lands” the fifth of Febru- 
ary. We were fortunate in securing bet- 
ter quarters here, as we were given the 
use of a small house and bam by a 
homesteader who had moved to town for 
the winter. It took Bert several days 
to get all his traps out. The next morn- 
ing I climbed to the summit of a great 
pile of rocks where I could watch him 
visit what traps he had put out the day 
before. It seemed as though nothing 
had been around them, as I failed to get 
the usual signal. I sat there about an 
hour and saw him disappear behind a 
huge rock about two miles away. As 
soon as he reappeared I got the signal 
to come with the camera. Now, I knew 
enough of trapping to tell me that there 
was no coyote in that trap, as they are 
mostly caught on the plains, hardly ever 
among the high places, so I came to the 
conclusion that it was either a mountain 
lion or a lynx. That was just what I 
wanted, as coyotes had become common- 
