Where Rolls the Kooskia 
A Story of Primitive Times and People and of 
Abundant Game 
Part II. 
By CHARLES STUART MOODY 
J UST before we halted for noon I was treated 
to a sample of the Indian idea of the white 
man's law. The savage cannot get rid of the 
notion that all the game belongs to him and that 
he is entitled to kill it whenever and wherever 
he chooses. We had just crossed a swamp thick¬ 
ly growm with willows and vine maple, upon the 
further side of which was a large burn upon the 
side of a hill. Charley was riding ahead fol¬ 
lowed by the pack animals while 1 brought up 
the rear, paying little heed to our progress. I 
glanced ahead in time to see my friend jerk his 
carbine from its scabbard, raise it and fire. I 
saw three deer bounding away, covering the 
ground in great leaps, their white flags waving; 
a fourth was struggling on the ground. 
Charley pushed forward, ready to complete 
the work did his game attempt to rise. It did 
not. I reached the spot after he had dismounted 
and said to him: “Charley, you shouldn’t have 
done that. The law is not off deer for some 
days yet.” 
He looked up from his task of bleeding the 
animal and said: “The law? What do we care 
for the law? Does the law expect us to go 
hungry when there are deer to be killed? If it 
does the law and the chaps who made it are 
going to get fooled. The game was put here 
for us to eat and I’m going to eat my share.” 
There you are. The protection of the game 
was nothing to him when he was hungry, and 
somehow I could not help sympathizing with 
him. There is one thing that can be said for 
the Nez Perce; he never kills wantonly. He 
always uses every part of his deer. When the 
women get through with a carcass there is noth¬ 
ing left but a little pile of hair, and this they 
often use to stuff their saddles. 
I pointed out to Charley that there was plenty 
of small game to be had with which to supply 
our larder until the deer season opened. I 
doubt if he understood the cogency of my rea¬ 
soning. He did not heed it unless he so desired. 
That night we camped on a tributary of the 
North Kooskia. The waters were teeming with 
trout. I doubt if there had been a hook cast 
in that stream for years. There were no large 
ones, for it was still many miles to the main 
river. They were just the size to fry well—• 
lively little chaps, greedy for anything resemb¬ 
ling a fly. While Charley was making camp I 
set up my rod and took enough for supper. 
The next day we made the old mining town of 
Moose beyond the North Kooskia. One might 
have thought Pierce deserted until he saw Moose. 
At one time the town boasted over a thousand 
people; to-day it has one white woman and sev¬ 
eral Chinese. Think of a woman so hungry for 
gold that she is willing to maroon herself over 
a hundred miles from her kind and spend year 
after year associated with a few miserable 
coolies and all for a little yellow dross. For 
several years the Indians had told me of a 
white woman who lived in the mountains with 
some Chinese and only came out once in many 
years. One day she passed through the Indian 
village. 
We halted on the stream just above the col- 
*lection of shacks and after the horses were un¬ 
packed and tethered we walked down to where 
some mining operations were being carried on. 
Imagine my surprise to see a white woman 
dressed in rubber boots and ducking overalls 
directing the nozzle of a hydraulic hose that 
was tearing down the gravel. She turned a pair 
of inquisitive black eyes in our direction, then 
proceeded with her work as though we were not 
in existence. The Chinese kept stolidly on with 
their shoveling, as Celestials do. without evinc¬ 
ing jany interest in our proceedings, though we 
were perhaps the first white men they had seen 
that year. That night the woman came striding 
into our camp and accosted us with, “What do 
you fellows want around here?” 
Her manner nettled me and T answered, “We 
want to attend strictly to our own business. 
Have you any serious objections?” 
“No, hut you are the first white men I have 
seen in five years, an’ I just wondered what 
brought you. There ain’t any gold here besides 
what I’ve got cornered, so if it’s gold you are 
after, you had just as well mosey on.” 
I hastened to assure her that all the gold in 
the stream would not tempt Us in the least; that 
Moose happened to be in our route of travel, and 
that accounted for our being there. 
The reply seemed to set her fears at rest, for 
she sat down, took out a scrap of brown wrap¬ 
ping paper and a pinch of tobacco, manufactured 
a cigarette Chinese fashion and lit it at the 
camp-fire. She proved to be an intelligent 
woman, well versed in literature and bore evi¬ 
dences of refinement. Of course she was quite 
ignorant of current events. After an hour’s 
talk with her I appreciated bow Selkirk felt on 
his island. Finally she arose abruptly and with¬ 
out a word strode off into the darkness. We 
started early next morning and did not see her 
again. 
We headed direct for Pot Mountain. That 
conical hill loomed right in our front seeming—■ 
through the rarified atmosphere—only a stone’s 
throw distant when in fact it was many miles. 
The bald top was already crowned with snow 
until the mountain looked not unlike an old man 
with snow white hair. 
At Moose the main trail deflected to the right, 
crossing the range into the Coeur d’Alene coun¬ 
try. We bore due north on a trail known only 
to the Indians, by them used on their hunting 
trips and when visiting their kinsmen on the 
Palouse. We were now in the Bitter Roots 
proper, a country of great peaks and crags of 
black basalt and gray granite,-but scantily for¬ 
ested save where the trail dipped into some pre¬ 
cipitous gulch. Charley headed for an upland 
meadow where he knew our horses could ob¬ 
tain forage. We reached it late in the after¬ 
noon of the second day out from Moose. The 
last three miles of the journey were through a 
forest of lodge pole pine that stood so dense 
that no man could penetrate it save on a trail. 
Before it got too dark to see we started in¬ 
numerable coveys of Franklin’s grouse (fool 
hens) out of the trail. They fluttered into the 
trees and sat stupidly watching us pass. The 
young w-ere well grown and furnished a wel¬ 
come addition to our menu. 
We spent the next day tramping about the 
shores of the meadow. It was several miles in 
extent, perched on a vast upland bench and 
reaching nearly to the base of the mountain. 
That day I had such opportunity to observe the 
Franklin grouse as I had never had before. 
Every ten steps, it seemed, we kicked coveys 
out of the grass and small bushes. I believe 
their foolishness is not' so much the lack of bird 
sense as it is their lack of association with man. 
They do not recognize in man an enemy and 
hence do not fear him. I noticed that when an 
eagle darted at one of these grouse the bird had 
sense enough to get out of the way, and more 
than once the king of birds was defeated. The 
Franklin grouse must furnish the eagle here with 
much of his fare at this season. The air was 
filled with these great birds, winnowing the open 
spaces near the. border, keenly watching the 
undergrowth for an unwary grouse. 
On this meadow we camped for several days. 
The trail toward Pot Mountain was obstructed 
