FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 15, 1907. 
930 
Hudson’s bay company fusees or trade guns. 
The shorter one was found near Little Button Butte, South of Wilder, Mont. 
ually find a resting place in one of our large 
museums. About thirty inches of the vertebrae 
were exposed to view, the remainder of the 
skeleton, apparently, being still imbedded in its 
original sand stone matrix. 
Taken as a whole this Seven Blackfoot is an 
extremely interesting region, and we spent sev¬ 
eral days climbing about through the bad lands, 
loading our pockets with specimens until we 
could hardly walk, and then unloading them, only 
to repeat the process again and again. In one 
gorge we found a waterfall nearly forty feet in 
height, with a deep basin worn in the rock be¬ 
neath it. At the time of our visit there were 
only a few drops gf water trickling over, but 
in the spring, or after a rain, it must be quite 
imposing. Evidently terrific freshets sometimes 
sweep down these canons, carrying immense 
boulders and trees before them. All along the 
stream, clear to the edge of the sand bar, which 
fills more than half the river channel below the 
creek mouth, may be seen pine and fir trees 
broken and torn up by the roots, which have 
been brought down by the floods from among 
the hills. On the flat, near camp, was a great 
collection of buffalo bones, containing perhaps, 
fifty skulls and parts of a much greater number 
of skeletons. The probability is that these bones 
are what remained after loading one or two flat 
boats for shipment down the river, for, in the 
early eighties, I saw great boat loads of buffalo 
heads, many still covered with the hide, sufficient 
proof that they were killed by skin hunters, not 
by Indians, for the latter used to skin clear to 
the muzzle. In 1883 the Sioux at Standing Rock 
traded $3,000 worth of robes. In 1884 Sitting 
Bull’s people killed but one cow on their entire 
fall hunt. Even then the whites would not be¬ 
lieve that the buffalo were exterminated, and in¬ 
sisted that they had gone north into the British 
possessions. But the Indians knew, for Sitting 
Bull had pretty thoroughly canvassed the situa¬ 
tion on both sides of the line, and probably if 
the buffalo had held out he would never have 
come in. These bones at Seven Blackfoot must 
have been hauled in wagons from the flats along 
the river which are not extensive. They never 
could have been collected from the broken coun¬ 
try ; it is too rough, and there are still many 
^kulls left back in the hills. The erosion of the 
cliffs lays bare bones of gigantic species which 
have not lived on earth for millions of years, and 
side by side are the remains of a splendid animal 
which, but a few decades ago, fairly blackened 
the plains, now practically as extinct as the 
dinosaur. 
Dr. Barnum Brown, vertebrate paleontologist 
of the American Museum of Natural History, 
New York, tells me that buffalo were killed near 
here in 1896, ten years before our visit! In fact 
in this beautiful country are many signs of 
death of individuals and of species, and yet we 
enjoyed ourselves so thoroughly that it was not 
without regret that on the morning of Oct. 25 
we resumed our journey, camping after a fifteen 
mile run at an island with picturesque cotton¬ 
woods, interspersed with junipers, red dogwood 
and willows. We were now confronted with the 
prospect of a tobacco famine, so as the weather 
was squally and cold, and our camp comfortable, 
we stayed over next day and played Indian, lay¬ 
ing in a big lot of red willow bark to mix with 
our waning supply of tobacco-, 
[to be concluded.] 
The Old Guard. 
Oakland, Cal., May 27. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: It was in the late seventies that I first 
dipped my pen for an article to Forest and 
Stream, and I was not so very young then, 
either in years or as a writer to the press, hav¬ 
ing contributed to- the “home paper” from the 
“seat of war” as early as 1861. Since then I 
have contributed to the columns of Forest and 
Stream more or less almost every year, so I 
assume I am one of those to whom the above 
caption, appearing at the head of the first editor¬ 
ial in the issue of May 18, will apply. 
There is a melancholy interest in reviewing 
the long line of brilliant writers who in those 
vanished years adorned its pages and have since 
gone “over the range”; and growing old our¬ 
selves, we are fain to believe we shall never see 
their like again, but quite likely this conviction 
is only. an evidence of our dotage. My own 
strenuous trips to the southern sierras are not 
likely to be repeated this year, although fortu¬ 
nately not because of physical inability, but the 
female contingent of the household has demanded 
a share in this year’s vacation, so a quiet month 
in the nearby Santa Cruz Mountains, with a few 
fingerling trout and a chipmunk or two as the 
most exciting episodes, is the most that I ex¬ 
pect for the season. All hail to Von W. and 
the few that still remain of the Old Guard. 
Forked Deer. 
Camp Life in the Alleghanies. 
From a Girl’s Point of View. 
When Alexander wrote for us to spend two 
weeks at Camp Greenbriar, on the famous Green- 
briar River, high in the mountains of West Vir¬ 
ginia, where he with a party of other adven¬ 
ture-lovers had pitched their tents, we imme¬ 
diately decided to go in spite of the many 
ominous prophecies made by our friends. We 
were told that a camp was no place for girls; 
that we would soon grow weary of roughing 
it, and dire stories of snakes and insects were 
dinned into our ears. But we were all healthy 
young women with a taste for the unusual; so, 
calmly ignoring all doleful predictions we se¬ 
cured a cheerful, practical chaperone, and gath¬ 
ering together short skirts, flannel waists, and 
a good supply of blankets, we started in high 
spirits. 
We were on the train a whole day, passing as 
we came into the mountainous country, first the 
rolling foothills, like miniature editions of their 
towering, forefathers. Gradually as the train 
rushed by they grew loftier until on every side 
loomed the sombre mountains, fading far in the 
distance into ineffable blueness. 
The camp was situated just a mile from Alder- 
son, a tiny mountain town, and at its dusty 
station we landed, tired but brimful of expec¬ 
tation, at nearly 10 P. M. As we stepped from 
the train a line of remarkably attired men.came 
forward in eager welcome. The camp with a 
few exceptions had turned out in full force to 
meet us. For. a moment we gazed in bewilder¬ 
ment, recognizing one by one, brother, cousin 
or friend, under his disguise of tan, beard and 
backwoods clothing, but at last with peals of 
laughter they were all identified, and we were 
marshaled "into line to start for camp. 
Our trunks were seized by willing hands, and 
behind the flickering gleam of a lantern we fol¬ 
lowed our hosts down the curving railroad track. 
For a short distance we stumbled along, clutch¬ 
ing the arm of the man next to us, for though 
the stars were out the night was dim and the 
way was strange. Suddenly we were helped 
down a steep bank, and the river lay before us. 
A number of boats were moored at the bank, 
and in a few minutes we were steadily gliding 
up the shadowy stream. The boys chatted mer¬ 
rily, but to us everything seemed strange, and 
we listened in silence. The glimmering river, 
spattered with the reflection of the stars, the 
subtle, sweet wild odor from the banks, and the 
black inscrutable mountains, all made us feel 
a thrill of something we had never felt before. 
Suddenly we swept around a bend and a light 
flashed from the left bank of the river, while 
a shout of welcome floated to us. As we ran 
the noses of our boats into the bank, those who 
had stayed at camp to greet us helped us out 
and led the way to the tent erected for our use. 
Here the whole party gathered and seated in 
every available spot, on the cots, the trunks, or 
on the floor. We chatted until the chaperone 
drove our noisy hosts from the tent, and we 
settled ourselves for the night. We arranged 
our blankets, and pillows on the comfortable 
spring cots, and fell asleep to the ripple and 
splash of the water in front of the tent. 
“Thirty minutes for breakfast! Thirty minutes 
for br-e-a-k-fast!” The summons came in a 
suave voice, but the tone was firm, and after 
