June 15, 1907.] 
also makes a gentle slapping noise, but this I 
have never heard and neither the word “slap” 
nor ‘flap ’ suggests to my mind, even remotely, 
the noise I have described. It is not very un¬ 
like the sound of a large lump of earth falling 
from a cut bank into deep water. Frequently, 
when it is perfectly calm, the banks will thus 
give way, and we saw, on several occasions, 
great blocks of earth fall from a height of twenty 
or thirty feet, either directly into the water, or 
on to the talus helow, in the latter case sending 
up a cloud of fine dust which hung for some 
seconds in the still air. Maximilian tells of two 
Indians being killed by the banks caving in on 
them in this way. 
While getting breakfast on the 15th I noticed 
a cottonwood stick about six feet long, with sev¬ 
eral small twigs and branches to which still ad¬ 
hered a few greenish yellow leaves, the whole 
drifting up stream near the opposite shore. This 
phenomenon was so unusual that we got out the 
glasses to have a better look. The twigs and 
leaves were throbbing and vibrating, but the 
motive power, in this case, proved to be a good 
sized beaver, gripping the upstream end of the 
stick with his teeth, and working his propellors 
full speed in his effort to stem the rapid current. 
Coming to a bar his tow grounded on the bould¬ 
ers, and he was obliged to’ show himself half 
out of water in order .to pry and haul it over. 
By this time our breakfast was preparing itself, 
while we were crawling to the edge of the bank 
to get a better view of operations. Towing his 
load to a point somewhat above us he started to 
cross over to our side, but the swift current 
swept him down until he was almost opposite 
us, and but a few yards out from shore. He 
evidently began to get uneasy, fearing no doubt, 
he would be discovered; so while struggling to 
retain his Fold on the stick, and battling bravely 
with the rapid water, he still endeavored to keep 
out of sight. It looked for a while as if he 
might have to give up his undertaking, and for 
some moments he barely held his own, frequently 
changing his grip to get a better hold, but all 
the time edging in closer to the shore, until at 
last he began to make visible progress. 
Anxious to see the final outcome, we made 
a hurried sneak back from the bank to a point 
several yards up stream, when, to our surprise, 
both beaver and stick had disappeared. ' Then 
for the first time we realized that the great 
jam of fallen trees and rubbish, at the begin¬ 
ning of the high bank, concealed beneath its 
watery foundations the entrance to a beaver’s 
house, or rather burrow, for only once or twice 
did we see anything approaching the dignity of 
a beaver lodge. The most conspicuous signs of 
the presence of beaver are the muddy paths from 
the water to the top of the bank, where they cut 
the young cottonwoods which form their food, 
and the peeled poles and short sections, found 
floating or lodged in eddies, or on sand bars. 
Often, too, one sees small branches with leaves 
attached, which have been trimmed off - and cast 
adrift. 
One afternoon, at Squaw Creek, Mr. Tyler 
was corraled by about eighty head of range cattle 
while walking across a wide flat. He said he 
thought it was only curiosity on their part, but 
he did not like it. These animals rarely see a 
man on foot, and will almost invariably run 
from him, but after going a few hundred yards 
will stop, face about, and stare at him. In this 
instance the bunch was large, and courageous 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
in proportion to its numbers, so after the first 
scare they decided to follow him. It did not 
take him long to discover that the leader of 
this hostile demonstration was a big roan steer, 
and being well armed, he determined if it be¬ 
came necessary, to drop the big fellow promptly 
and without ceremony. They contented them¬ 
selves, however, with following behind him, and 
running parallel to his course, until he reached 
HORNED OWL. 
1. Hooting. 2. Looking backward. 3. Injured dignity. 
some broken hills near the edge of the timber, 
among which he disappeared, and they soon for¬ 
got all about him. 
We ran down twelve or fifteen miles on Oct. 
17. Next day stopped at the ranch of a Mr. 
Crane to inquire about the situation of Leedy, 
the next postoffice. We found him and his wife 
very nice young people, he a New Yorker, and 
she a Georgian. They urged us very cordially 
to stay a few days, but we declined, being 
obliged to push on in order to finish our trip 
929 
before the ice should stop us. They gave us 
a pail of milk and we left them some venison, 
as Mr. Crane had not killed a deer that fall, 
though usually very successful. 
We started to explore the hills on the 21st, 
walking back across a flat covered with a typical 
“dog town.” Maximilian saw it nearly seventy- 
five years ago, and mentions it in his book. 
Climbing to the top of a spur, which runs 
parallel with the river, we followed it toward 
the west. The ridgetop is so narrow that Mr. 
Tyler was reminded of a similar place which 
an old mountaineer once described, “So narrer 
that he had to straddle it and work himself along 
with his hands.” For a mile or more a hori¬ 
zontal white stratum runs through these hills, 
terminating, at the east end, in several masses 
of curious form, suggesting castles and churches. 
.These are the White Castles of Maximilian, of 
which Bodmer has given us an excellent picture. 
We could see the Little Rockies, to the north¬ 
west, covered with snow, and after following the 
range of hills for two or three miles, we clam¬ 
bered down into the canon on the further side 
of it. We selected, for our descent, the most 
promising place in sight, but had many misgiv¬ 
ings before we reached the bottom. Here we 
were in a gorge so steep that the sun cannot 
reach its southern wall, and owing to this peren¬ 
nial shade, we found vegetation- of a character 
hardly to be expected in the midst of an arid, 
sun-baked region—pine, balsam, fir, cedar, a few 
cottonwoods, and moist dells, dark beneath the 
dense foliage, the ground carpeted with thick 
moss and ferns, and in the little pools of water 
ice still unmelted in the heat of noonday. From 
these twilight depths we gazed back at the tow¬ 
ering wall beyond, fantastic, in form, brilliant 
with its warm tones of yellowish pinks, grays 
and whites ablaze with sunlight, the picture of 
savage drouth. There were some signs of black- 
tail deer, and a day or two later, in another 
gulch, I found the fresh track of a big grizzly. 
It was dusk, and at first I mistook it for Mr. 
Tyler’s track (as he was wearing shoepacks) 
until later I saw a distinct impression showing 
the separate toes. I had to follow the bottom of 
the canon, which in places was not ten feet 
wide, for more than a mile, and sometimes it was 
so crooked that I could not see a rod ahead. It 
occurred to me also tha,t this was about the hour 
that the silvertip should be on the move, so I 
took an occasional look to see if my sights were 
still visible even after I was sure they were 
not, but I saw no bear, and got to camp about 
an hour after dark, where I found Mr. Tyler 
with supper ready and waiting. 
Another day we climbed the ridges to the east 
of the creek. In the hills and bottoms of the 
water courses we found a great many pieces of 
petrified bone, baculites (commonly called “petri¬ 
fied fish” in Dakota), and “cannon balls,” which 
are round concretions of rather hard, heavy 
stone, ranging in size from .45 caliber to that 
of a baseball. On the Cannonball River they 
are as big as pumpkins, though I believe that 
these last are not, quite the same in character; 
at least they are seldom so exactly spherical and 
seem to be of a different consistency. 
One day Mr. Tyler was so fortunate as to run 
on to the skeleton of a dinosaur, possibly the 
Tyrannosaurus rex, or carnivorous dinosaur, the 
type specimen of which came from Hell Creek, 
not many miles away. This specimen will prob¬ 
ably be heard from later, and may, I hope, event- 
