May 4, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
559 
The vagaries of the Government map makers 
leave much to be desired in the matter of names. 
One of the branches of the Upper Snake is 
named after that intrepid man, a member of 
Lewis and Clarke's party, who first and alone 
visited what is now known as Jackson’s Hole, 
in 1809, and whose adventures make wonderful 
reading. But his name was Colter, not Coulter. 
The stream down which the Astor expedition of 
1810 first reached the new waters of the Colum¬ 
bia was fittingly called after one of the guides, 
John Hoback. The name still appears on many 
maps, but on the latest production of the United 
States Geological Survey the stream now figures 
as Fall River. But the park map is filled with 
such perfectly lovely creations as Sylvan, Lily- 
pad and Fern Lakes, Iris. Mystic and Rainbow 
Falls, Purple Mountain, Phlox, Spirea, Cam¬ 
panula and Stellaria Creeks. I suppose Hoback 
was too uncouth for sensitive ears. 
The park itself was never noted for the num¬ 
ber of its beaver colonies, and they are now 
pretty scarce, notwithstanding the fact that no 
trapping is allowed. But beaver are excessively 
easy things to trap, and the law does not enforce 
itself. And as a whole the park is wonder¬ 
fully deficient in small birds and mammals. One 
may actually travel all day long through the 
woods and not see a bird or even a squirrel or 
chipmunk. About all there are to enliven the 
landscape or likely to be seen, are the elk and 
deer, and a few white pelicans, gulls and eagles, 
brown and bald. Yet Wyoming has probably 
more game than any other State, and is said to 
have more different varieties of birds. 
The white pelican, a rare and interesting bird, 
breeds here and is fairly plentiful in all this 
region. Unlike the gray variety common on the 
Pacific coast, they appear seldom or never to 
dive for their prey, but seem to do all their 
fishing along shore in shallow water. They make 
a pretty picture after the day's work is done, 
perched on some stump or rock projecting from 
the water, far enough from shore to be safe 
from predatory animals. They are quite tame 
when unmolested, or the accompanying photo¬ 
graph would not have been gotten. 
Never until here, at Heart Lake, did I see an 
elk swim for the mere fun of it. It is well 
known that when frightened or hard pressed, 
like nearly all quadrupeds, they can take to the 
water. Coming back to camp one night, coast¬ 
ing the shore in the little boat, we saw a small 
bunch of cows and calves that had come down 
to drink, as is their habit at dusk. Not content 
with squattering around and playing as most 
young elk do, some of the more venturesome 
put out from shore and swam around a little. 
but there was no attempt to go any great dis¬ 
tance. I have seen moose in the act of cross¬ 
ing a lake a mile or more wide, and that, too, 
not under compulsion, but merely to avoid the 
bother of going around the end of the lake. But 
I have never heard of elk doing anything like 
that. 
After all, there is only one way to travel in 
the Rockies, and that is with a pack outfit, and 
in the company of one kindred spirit. That 
means work, but the returns are worth the out¬ 
lay, and if your companion is not a shirk or a 
quitter, your labors will not be arduous. Merely 
to lie about camp and be waited on is tameness 
itself. To wrangle pack horses and rustle fire¬ 
wood and pitch the tent and throw the diamond 
and wield the skillet, are not only interesting in 
themselves, but they give an appetite and a 
sound sleep that the mere idler seldom has. And 
somehow the hired help, with which some choose 
to surround themselves, always detracts from my 
enjoyment of the game. Last, but not least, you 
and your companion can spend a month in the 
hills by yourselves for about what three days 
would cost you with a retinue. But it must be 
said that the game cannot be learned in a 
day or on one trip. But it is worth learn¬ 
ing and the essentials are not at all difficult of 
mastery. 
Across the Plains in Early Days 
By SAMUEL MANSFIELD STONE 
{Continued from last week.) 
I T was a raw, chilly morning that greeted our 
awakening, with sky overcast and indications 
that a storm was brewing. After breakfast we 
held a brief conference on our plans and decided 
to remain in camp pending meteorological re¬ 
sults. First we removed our plant an eighth 
of a mile down the scrub for the sake of the 
horses, they having denuded the first locality 
very eff-ectually of herbage, which grew but 
scantily even beside the timber belts in that 
country. 
“Next on the program is a nice shelter tent,’’ 
was John’s first observation after we had se¬ 
curely staked the horses. 
“Do you happen to have one about your 
clothes?” 
“I’ve got half of one,” pointing to his rubber 
blanket, “and with yours we’ve got just what 
we want to make as nice a waterproof house 
as a body needs in summer.” 
Going to the timber where there were plenty 
of dead dry poles, we secured a couple with 
crotched tops. Taking these along with a third 
pole from which we broke the limbs, wishing 
the while for a good, sharp hatchet, we pro¬ 
ceeded to a gently sloping bluff and began oper¬ 
ations. 
With John’s hunting knife we cut and set two 
slanting holes eight feet apart, a short distance 
from the bottom of the slope. Into these we stepped 
the butts of the crotched sticks, laying an end 
of the third pole into the intersecting forks and 
thrusting the other end into the ground ten feet 
up the slope. Taking the two blankets, which 
were fortunately each of one size, we placed 
the longer edges together, rolling the selvage 
once over to make a firm joint. Then tying the 
strings which were in one end of the blankets, 
we cut a half dozen holes at regular intervals, 
inserted strings and tied the blankets firmly to¬ 
gether. Throwing them over the ridge pole so 
that the seam came on top, we brought the edges 
down and tied them to short stakes thrust into 
the ground. This gave us a “house” open in 
front, the sloping hummock forming the floor 
and rear wall, and of sufficient size to admit of 
our sitting or lying down as best suited our mood. 
Making another trip to the timber we broke 
off all the small oak branches we could comfort¬ 
ably carry, which with the adhering leaves 
formed a good foundation upon which to spread 
our heavy woolen blankets. John had an extra 
blanket which we reserved for covering. On 
that trip to the scrub I saw what looked to me 
like a gray squirrel, and on finishing our house 
I told John I would go and get a supply of 
fresh meat. He acquiesced and said he would 
build a fireplace while I was gone. 
Loading my rifle carefully, I returned to the 
place where I had seen the squirrel, only to find 
that it had gone. Employing my old-time squir¬ 
rel tactics, I entered the timber a little way, and 
seating myself in a position to command an 
extended territory, awaited developments. It 
was not long until I noticed a movement in the 
brush tops some distance down the creek. I re¬ 
mained quiet, hoping the squirrel, or whatever 
caused the commotion, would show himself. But 
it proved to be a most disobliging animal, and 
though I waited for fully ten minutes, it would 
not come out into the open. Then I left my 
position and crept as quietly as possible toward 
the scene of the disturbance. A dead twig snap¬ 
ped under my foot, and at the same moment a 
pair of fine squirrels sprang into the scrub top, 
and ran, jumping from top to top in a most tan¬ 
talizing manner, the foliage being so thick I 
could not get a fair sight of them. Presently 
one ran up the topmost bough of an oak, jumped 
to an adjoining bough, halting as it did so in 
an effort to get a foothold. I improved that 
little fraction of time to take quick aim and 
fire. The squirrel neither jumped nor fell, just 
remained swinging on the branch for a minute, 
then fell. It was the most peculiar squirrel I 
had ever seen, with a nose and face like a fox’s, 
a body too slim to harmonize with the size of 
its head, and an enormous tail ringed like that 
of a ’coon. It was also one of the largest squir¬ 
rels I ever saw, and I congratulated myself on 
the amount of food it would supply. Lugging 
the animal back to camp, I tossed it down at 
the tent mouth, saying: “We’ll have one good 
meal, anyhow.” 
John looked at the squirrel a moment, then 
at me with a queer expression on his face. “Do 
they eat cats where you came from?” he asked. 
“What has eating cats to do with this squir¬ 
rel ?” I retorted. 
