while doing so a couple of does walked in 
among the horses and looked us over. As the 
outfit started we jumped a small stag which ac¬ 
companied us up the mountains with the pack 
horses for fully two miles. 
We climbed continuously all day, and when we 
located camp that evening we were within six 
to seven hundred feet of timber line. 
For three days we toiled and labored from 
this base with more or less luck as one looks 
at it. Pop, for instance, killed a buck mule deer 
that was as large as a small elk, while Uebe 
On our first day’s hunt from the Stag camp 
we saw quantities of cougar tracks, and in the 
evening while seated about the stove in our 
tent Manson called to Creekwah to be careful 
of the meat, as a cougar might steal it. Some¬ 
what later I went to the creek for some water, 
and upon my return there a short distance off 
shone two bright balls of fire. I looked intently 
at them, and sure enough they moved. I called 
to Pop to get his gun, and out he rushed and 
blazed twice at the eyes, but did not stop them, 
killed a small buck and saw several others, and 
also a bunch of rams at which he did not get 
a shot, while my humble self saw deer beyond 
my counting ability, had a splendid easy shot 
at a wonderful head, but my rifle jammed, and 
later on the same day I shot at a fine ram which 
was on the fly about 400 yards distant. I also 
explored Saddle Mountain with David, climbing 
it three times in the same day to make certain 
of some ram tracks we had spied in the snow. 
Manson allowed we were a bit overtired and 
needed rest. The next morning upon examin¬ 
ing the snow we found our cougar had been 
nothing more terrible than a big jack rabbit. 
While Uebe and I were out one day Creekwah 
told Pop, who was loafing in camp after having 
killed his big buck, that we would have to get 
some fresh meat, so Pop shouldering his trusty 
.30, alone and unassisted, climbed the mountain 
directly in front of the camp, and within forty- 
five minutes rolled a fine big buck down the 
mountain almost into camp. My! but Pop was 
proud of that achrevement, and made me rig up 
the animal’s head on a tree and photograph 
it several times. 
During the trip Manson had continually talked 
about Churn Creek Basin as being the one best 
place for rams in that locality, but as it was 
many days distant, he was using every endeavor 
to get our rams at handier spots. 
On the morning of October 17 we broke camp, 
and started for the basin. During our stay at 
the Stag camp our horses had been in-sight of 
camp until the night before we were to start, 
and then some bright idea got into their heads 
to vamoose, the result being that it was 12:3o 
before we got under way, which forced us to 
camp on a plateau near a water hole, which was 
muddy and impossible to 'drink. Of course, that 
night we all had a fierce thirst. 
The weather was cold and snowing hard, but 
even with these drawbacks we had a comfortable 
night and were up early in the morning, rustled 
in our horses, and under way by 9:30. This 
day’s trip in a hard snowstorm which finally 
turned to rain, was the severest we encountered 
on our entire expedition. We passed through 
heavy woods without trails, the trees covered 
with snow soaked us through and through, 
while we seemed to be wandering aimlessly 
about until finally we came to an enormous 
FOREST AND STREAM 
stretch of open plains, and off in the distance 
could faintly be seen a good sized stream, which 
Manson informed us was Churn Creek. 
The plains were well populated with deer, in 
fact, at one spot we could see nine does scat¬ 
tered about, and as we dropped down to the 
creek we started a large buck, but were not able 
to get a crack at him; altogether we must have 
seen fifteen to twenty deer that day. We camped 
close to the bank of the creek, with plenty of 
fresh water. Manson informed us that evening 
we had still fifteen miles to travel, as close as 
he could figure, before we reached the basin, 
and that he guessed we had strayed off a bit, 
as we had come out on the stream several miles 
lower down than he had figured, it being over 
fifteen years since he made the trip before, and* 
the country wasn’t as dear in his mind as it 
might be. Well, anyhow, on the next day, after 
considerable trouble in rounding up the horses, 
owing to a heavy fog, we got started about 11 :30, 
and reached what is known as Sheep Flats, 
about eight miles further up Churn Creek, at 
Pop’s Curious Squaw. 
3 P. M. Seeing a large band of ewes we de¬ 
cided to pitch camp and put in a day hunting. 
Sheep Flats is a level plain about three miles 
long and two miles wide, and is now part of 
a cattle ranch owned by a Scotchman named 
McLane, who lives alone in a log cabin with 
a couple of black dogs of uncertain breed, and 
seldom sees anyone, except once a year when 
ranchers come in to buy his cattle. Our coming 
was quite an event in the old man’s life. He 
made our camp a couple of visits and talked 
us to a stand still. As he hadn’t seen Manson 
in years, he fell on his neck as a long lost 
brother, but when he started talking politics 
raking up Roosevelt as the greatest living 
authority on everything, we decided to get busy 
on other things. 
Our hunt from Sheep Flats was unproductive, 
though I saw my first Rocky Mountain goat, 
and spoiled my day’s hunt in stalking it some 
seven or eight miles, only to be forced to finally 
drop the stalk as the goat had crossed into the 
territory that Manson and Uebe were hunting. 
Tuesday, October 21, saw us on our way to 
the Basin, and as our start was an early one, 
we reached the Basin about 12:30. As we 
dropped down toward a spot for camp we be¬ 
749 
gan to realize that we had at last reached what 
is undoubtedly the greatest sheep range in British 
Columbia, a veritable game preserve indeed, with 
bands of sheep on each mountain, in fact, we 
feared our eyes must be deceiving us, for direct¬ 
ly below us stood nine ewes, while on the moun¬ 
tain opposite across the creek were two bands 
of sheep, among which were several rams, while 
to our right, high up on another mountain was 
still a fourth band. You can imagine how our 
spirits rose, and the rapidity with which we 
pitched camp and got things fixed. However, 
by that time it was too late for an assault on 
those mountains, so we had to hold ourselves 
in check until the morning. After a night of 
disturbed slumber, owing to the Big Horns oc¬ 
cupying too much space in our poor brain cells, 
we were up and about at daybreak, endeavoring 
to enjoy some of Creekwah’s mutton fried grub, 
when Manson who had been out spying, quietly 
announced that there was a band of six rams 
directly above the camp, about three miles off. 
We all rushed to spy, and sure enough there 
they were with their horns standing out like 
fire, as the rising sun shone on them. “Finish 
your breakfast and we will get those rams,” 
said Manson. It didn’t take us long before we 
were ready and off, Uebe, Pop, Manson, and 
the two Indians and myself, a motley horde to 
attack six small unprotected rams. 
(To be continued.) 
PRESERVING GAME. 
Every fall, as the hunters come back from their 
jaunts, their bag seems a little smaller, yet sports¬ 
men’s clubs all over the country are working for 
closer legal regulations. More game wardens 
are being employed to enforce t'he laws, but every 
year sees some species extinct that older people 
remember as abundant. 
As population grows, the game area narrows 
down. Sportsmen take more frequent and longer 
vacations. The hunting grounds acquire a larger 
human population. 
There is a constantly increasing number of 
alien residents who speak no English and do not 
understand the game laws. To the minds of some 
these song birds that are useful in destroying 
insect pests make just as good pot pie as the 
scarcer game birds. 
Luxury-loving people are not contented with 
ordinary fowls and meats. Some scarce tidbit 
from the woods is needed, something inaccessible 
to thinner purses, with w'hich they can give an 
air of distinction and originality to their feasts. 
The price is immaterial so long as the dish is 
different. 
Thus in every region where game birds abound 
a tribe of pot hunters has grown up. They turn 
the birds that save the crops into millionaire 
hotel dinners. Also they are making game birds 
so scarce that a man has to travel hundreds of 
miles for a little sport, Whereas formerly he 
could get it on a single day’s near-by excursion. 
The wholesale hunting of game has become a 
form of monopoly that should be stopped. What 
wild life remains is the property of all the people. 
The hunting of varieties that save crops should 
cease and the killing of other kinds should be 
equally shared. 
To guard against tree repair fakers, or quack 
tree surgeons, the Massachusetts forestry asso¬ 
ciation will inspect the shade trees belonging to 
its members, free of charge. 
