American Big Game Hunting Part 8

With what superst.i.tious dread you looked cautiously around, expecting a hobgoblin at any moment to rise out of the ground? How every noise--the crackling of a twig--startled you? So it is with me when watching on the trail of this bear at such an hour. When occasion requires it, his movement is as stealthy and noiseless as a cat's. You hear the rolling of a boulder up the mountain-side in the timber several hundred yards away. You know it must be done by some large animal, and you suspect a bear. Presently the same noise, but closer, and your faculties are all on the _qui vive_, and you are every moment expecting his appearance.

You wait what, to the excited senses, appears a long time. What has become of him? It was, perhaps, a false alarm, and you are discouraged; when, presently, there he stands, apparently right on you, and seemingly risen out of the ground.

So it was on this occasion, as I lay in the open about thirty feet from the thicket, in a p.r.o.ne position in the gra.s.s, clothed in soiled buckskin, with three cartridges in left hand and finger on trigger, ready to rise into a sitting position and deliver fire. Hark! the crackling of brush almost behind me. It is a moment of intense interest, for I don't know where he will appear. My attention is kept constantly to the rear and left rear. No more noise. What has become of him? It is getting very dark, and maybe it was a mistake. Presently, there! right on me apparently, but really fifty yards to the left rear, stands a black ma.s.s that must be the bear. I rise cautiously to a sitting position, and as he stands, looking wistfully up toward the old horse, I pull away at his side. The report is followed by a suppressed bawl, and he rolls over. I am loaded in a moment and waiting to see if he regains his feet. He does not, and it is unnecessary to fire. I walk up to him with finger on trigger at a ready, but the death-rattle is in his throat, and another shot is unnecessary. He turns out to be a black bear with a very black coat, and pretty well furred. He is dressed as quickly as possible, for it is now dark, and quite six miles to quarters, over a trailless mountain. A walk of half a mile to my horse Pike, and then as rapid a ride home as circ.u.mstances will admit, wind up the evening's adventures. I am well satisfied, but know I have not yet gotten the right one, the "calf-killer."

Rush skins and attends to the hide the next morning, and before sundown I am again on hand. The old horse is fast disappearing, and it is desirable to lose no time. Position is taken this time a little nearer the trail. In coming out from the willow-brush it pa.s.ses for twenty or thirty yards through a marsh that is screened, to some extent, by scattering willows on the near side; and my position enables me to see, through these willows, a portion of the trail over which the bear will probably come. Late in the afternoon a storm had pa.s.sed around the mountain, and a strong and favorable wind was blowing. Lying p.r.o.ne among the sage-brush, in a position favorable for observation, with everything at a ready, I wait patiently. Sundown comes; the mountain to the west casts its shadows around. It becomes quite dusky: so much so that I experiment as to whether the fore sight can be seen, otherwise a wad of white paper must be tied over the front sight. This is as yet unnecessary. It is now the witching time when this bear likes to prowl around. The senses are all on the strain as they are directed to the left rear. Just then a dark moving ma.s.s flits by between the willows on the trail, and soon emerges in full view, but again to disappear in a slight depression pa.s.sed by the trail. Heavens, what a monster he seems in the dim twilight! As soon as he disappears I move rapidly and noiselessly forward to within about fifty yards of the trail he has to pa.s.s, drop on the right knee, and am ready. He does not come to time, however, and has evidently stopped to listen; doubtless remembering the first evening's experience, and being in hearing of last evening's racket. Has he taken the alarm and gone back? When on the point of going to the left, peering over, and taking a chance shot on the run, his back appears over the sage-brush and he is moving confidently forward, having satisfied himself there is no danger. At the first favorable opportunity, as he pa.s.ses through the sage-brush, I deliver fire into his side, a little too high, and he rolls over, but with such a bawl as to indicate he is dangerous, did he know from what direction came the shot. He is soon on his feet, going back on his trail, toward the swamp.

Loading quickly, I run forward to intercept him, and find him, after stumbling along 40 or 50 yards, in a sitting position near the edge of the marsh, evidently nearly done for, with his back toward me. A moment's interval was sufficient to place a ball in the back of his head; he rolls over, and is soon dead. A hasty examination showed him to be a large bear, and the handsomest and most symmetrically formed I had ever killed. He was in just the proper flesh for activity and business, though not quite as large as the big bear killed on the Big Bear Fork of Four Bear Creek, heretofore described.

Before proceeding to disembowel him, I did what had always been done under like circ.u.mstances--that is, placed the loaded rifle convenient for instant use. Something whispered this caution, especially now, as it was a time when another bear might appear on the trail at any moment.

Keeping my eyes as much as possible at the point on the opposite side of the marsh, where the trail debouched on to it, I had proceeded to rip the carca.s.s from the throat to the pelvis, and had my hands already messed up in a ma.s.s of liver, paunch, express-b.a.l.l.s, etc., etc., when my attention was drawn to a dark ma.s.s at that point, and in a moment my rifle was in hand ready for the emergency. By the time I was ready to fire he had discovered something unusual in his front, and had "sat up"

to make me out. Before doing so, aim had been quickly taken at his brisket, and at the report he had tumbled over, the ball striking the left side, fragments penetrating the heart. Judging from his boldness in stumbling on to me, not more than fifteen minutes after my last shot, I expected that he would show fight, but instead he made back on his trail as fast as his condition would allow. From previous experience in just such circ.u.mstances, the necessity was at once recognized of a cautious but vigorous pursuit, if he was to be secured before hiding in the brush; and without hesitation I plunged through the marsh, half knee-deep in mud and water, and entered the narrow trail on the opposite side. Pursuing it rapidly for thirty or forty yards to where it pa.s.sed through a little opening, there, within ten steps of me, was a dark ma.s.s, breathing heavily and lying partially behind a small clump of willows. Putting a telling shot through the center of the ma.s.s, he appeared to wake up, and gave an exhibition of some of the grandest ground and lofty tumbling, at one time appearing to stand up on his head and kicking with his hind feet ten feet straight into the air. As he did not get upon his feet again, another shot was unnecessary, and he soon settled down and was dead.

This bear was as large from tip to tip as he of the Big Bear Fork, but not as fat nor as large-bodied; in fact, not as heavy as the one just killed. Neither of these bears, I think, needed a second shot, and, undisturbed, would not have gotten on their feet again. A dense thicket was near, and they might have scrambled into its cover and have been lost, so another shot was given. At any rate, darkness was at hand by the time the carca.s.ses were dressed, and a dense fog was settling over the mountain that had to be crossed. The exhilaration of spirits from the killing of two such large bears on the same evening--one of them the bear that I was after--caused me to forget fatigue and fog, and with a light heart Pike was mounted and the mountain ascended. A thick fog soon enveloped us, so that nothing could be seen beyond a hundred feet.

Pike and I soon disagreed as to the direction, but I insisted on my way.

After going a half-mile and getting into some rough ground, it was evident that I was wrong and completely befogged. The rein was then given to Pike, and he turned squarely to the left, and, having gone 600 yards over some pretty rough ground, he came to the head of the game-trail leading down the mountain, and which we had several times traveled. Pike had his way the balance of the ride, and after pa.s.sing across the drainage for two miles we got below the fog, and by ten o'clock we were once more at home.

As an indication of the labor usually undergone in hunting this bear, it is stated that seventy-five miles were traveled (one half of which was in the night) before the first shot, and one hundred and five miles before killing the three. I have since traveled more than a hundred miles after a special bear and was repaid by only one shot at long range, and no bear.

The next day Rush and McDevitt skinned and packed in the hides and fat of the two grizzlies. The weighing apparatus was taken along, and the "calf-killer" was found to weigh 405 pounds after being dressed sixteen hours, the other something less. The black bear was not weighed, but it is presumed he weighed about the average of this species (175 pounds) in life.

The rifle employed is the same used for several years, a 45-caliber Sharps, with which I have killed thirty-eight of these bears, of which number twenty-two were killed with a single shot each, using 110 grains C. & H. No. 6, and a 340-grain express-ball. As I have before stated, the rise of its trajectory is 7.01 inches in 200 yards, an average of about twenty shots through a trajectory range. Previously I had used a 44-caliber Sharps, with a bottle-neck sh.e.l.l holding 100 to 105 grains of the same powder with which a good many bears had been killed. No especial ball has been determined on as best for bear and elk and sheep. With exceptional opportunities for several years past among all our big game, together with a careful study of the subject, based on a dissection of wounds made by different combinations of powder and ball, I think the 2-7/8 45-caliber sh.e.l.l, with 110 grains strong powder and a 340-grain express-ball such as I use, the most destructive charge in all American rifles for bear, elk, and sheep. A little lighter ball might answer, perhaps, but I am not sure. The amount of powder would not be sufficient for a heavier one for best results. The best results not only depend on the relative proportion of powder and ball, but also on the diameter and depth of the hole in the point of ball. If the walls around the hole are too thin, they will break off too soon, or in too fine pieces. If the walls are too thick, they may not disintegrate until the ball's velocity has been so much r.e.t.a.r.ded that the particles will not have velocity to make their own way, but will follow the channel made by the b.u.t.t; so that a good many considerations enter into the problem. The ball in question, shot directly into a bear, elk, sheep, etc., will, after pa.s.sing through the skin, break up, usually tearing a hole through the ribs, even of a fat animal, through which the unclenched hand can be pa.s.sed, the fragments scattering in a cone shape, the larger fragments penetrating to the opposite ribs. In this way the whole momentum of the ball is expended on the vitals, the heart and lungs. Hit further back it breaks up into still smaller fragments, making a terrible wound in the paunch and entrails that none of those animals can long survive. I have never known it to fail in breaking the large bones of the largest bear or elk when coming in contact with them.

For deer and antelope my 40-caliber is found sufficient, using 100 grains of strong powder and a particular express-ball of 270 grains. It makes about a 6-1/2-inch curve in two hundred yards, and the ball flies very true. I use also in the 45-caliber the 44-caliber ball before alluded to, using three thicknesses of patch paper. It flies remarkably true for its weight, and makes a 6.34-inch curve per 200 yards, with 110 grains C. & H. No. 6. I failed to say at the proper place that the degree of hardness or per cent. of alloy has a great deal to do with the execution, as well as accuracy of flight, of the express-ball. When of pure lead they break up too soon. Nor have I ever known a reasonable degree of accuracy obtained with any lead ball with a comparatively large charge, beyond 50 or 75 yards. They are knocked out of proper shape by the time they leave the muzzle. This want of accuracy has been observed with the best English express-rifles with light leaden b.a.l.l.s. I find in my experience with the b.a.l.l.s of my preference (as above) that from five per cent. for the heavier ball, to eight per cent. for the lighter, is best.

A 20-bore double-barreled shot-gun, made by Bland & Sons, of London (chambered for the Kynoch bra.s.s sh.e.l.l), for ducks, the several species of grouse, jack-rabbits, magpies, skunks, etc., completes my battery. I value the latter very highly for its "executive ability," combined with a weight of only six pounds.

I have written much in detail, because I think it is the details that make the account of hunting trips interesting. I hope its perusal may interest readers as much as the recalling of its incidents has interested me.

I have made several mentions of Four Bear Creek. The name was given it for want of a better one by the United States Land Surveyors, who happened to be in camp on h.e.l.l-Roaring River, near the creek's mouth, on the night in which I killed four bears, the last about 9.30 o'clock at night.

_W. D. Pickett._

The Yellowstone Park as a Game Reservation

When the Yellowstone Park was set aside by Act of Congress as a national reservation, very little was known of the region beyond such facts as could be gathered during one short season of exploration, mainly devoted to an examination of the marvelous hot springs and geysers, which have since made the place so famous throughout the world.

During his first visit to the region in 1871, Dr. F. V. Hayden realized the exceptional nature of the hydrothermal manifestations found here and the grand scale upon which the phenomena were displayed. Although it was then far removed from all beaten tracks, he shrewdly foresaw the necessity of government protection, if these scientific curiosities were to be preserved intact in their natural condition. He saw that vandals would soon despoil the region of the delicate incrustations and sediments slowly deposited through long ages from thermal waters, and that settlers, learning their real value, would seize upon all objects of interest for their own gain.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Buffalo of the Timber.

Photographed from life by John Fossam. From Forest and Stream.]

On his return to Washington he urged the enactment of a law establishing the Yellowstone Park as a government reservation. In this work he was ably supported by Senators Anthony, of Rhode Island, Edmunds, of Vermont, and Trumbull, of Illinois, and also by Mr. Dawes, of Ma.s.sachusetts, then a member of the House of Representatives, who in an excellent speech presented the matter so forcibly that the enabling act pa.s.sed the House without opposition.

The report of the Public Lands Committee of the House recommending the pa.s.sage of the act, after pointing out the worthlessness of the region for agricultural purposes or for settlement, closes with this expression of opinion, valuable in the light in which the Park is now held by the civilized world:

The withdrawal of this tract, therefore, from sale or settlement takes nothing from the value of the public domain, and is no pecuniary loss to the Government, but will be regarded by the entire civilized world as a step of progress and an honor to Congress and the nation.

The organic law establishing the Park, after defining its boundaries, states that the reservation is "dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasure-ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people."

Exclusive control of the Park was given to the Secretary of the Interior, with power to make the necessary rules and regulations for its proper care and maintenance. He was authorized to "provide against the wanton destruction of the fish and game found within said Park, and against their capture or destruction for the purpose of merchandise or profit." The act was approved by the President March 1, 1872.

It will thus be seen that from the very inception of the project for a grand National Park, the preservation of the game was contemplated, although it is evident that absolute prohibition of shooting was not then intended. Probably this was not deemed necessary in such a remote and unfrequented region, to say nothing of its working a hardship upon those who were ready to penetrate its forests and search for fresh wonders.

At that time the country included within the Park was practically an inaccessible region, which, owing to the rough and rugged nature of its barriers, had defied all earlier attempts at exploration. It stood out alone as a broad unknown mountain ma.s.s when the surrounding country had been fairly well explored. It had been visited only by a few venturesome pioneers, mining prospectors, and fur-hunters, who found little or no encouragement to seekers after wealth. Only one trans-continental railway spanned the Rocky Mountains, crossing Wyoming far to the south of the Park, the Union and Central Pacific having been opened to traffic in 1869. At that time, wild animals roamed freely over prairie, plain, and mountain slope, from the Canadian border to the Rio Grande. In Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado, elk, deer, and antelope abounded in favorable localities. In the North Park in northern Colorado, I saw almost daily numerous bands of antelope, hundreds in each, grazing along the shallow bottom-lands. Over the Laramie plains, antelope and deer might be seen almost any day from the railway. Buffalo roamed the great plains in vast numbers. In 1872 I saw buffalo in the North Park, but they long since left that ideal grazing-ground. The Upper Missouri and Yellowstone valleys were the homes of magnificent herds; now they have disappeared forever. I never had the good fortune to see such enormous herds as frequently wandered over western Kansas; but I well remember one autumn afternoon, when seated in a railway car, book in hand, glancing out upon the prairie, as I turned the pages, I scarcely looked up from the volume but the s.h.a.ggy forms of buffalo were visible; and this continued until darkness cut off the view. To-day none are to be seen. Except under protection, buffalo have practically become extinct.

Elk, moose, deer, antelope, and mountain sheep are gradually retiring to more and more secluded mountain recesses. Year by year game areas become more restricted, even in the mountain regions. The lumberman and railway-tie cutter, the advance-guard of a constantly increasing civilization, are steadily encroaching upon the haunts of game.

Large areas of the Rocky Mountain country are timberless and in great part waterless during portions of the year. In such sections the bare rocks carry very little soil and afford an insufficient food-supply for game. In many instances where the natural conditions would otherwise be favorable, the mountains rise as long narrow ridges between relatively broad valleys. On the occupation of the lowlands by a steadily increasing population, such game-resorts became easily accessible to butchers and skin-hunters. The game was either soon killed off, or the instinct of self-preservation taught the animals to abandon their haunts for more secluded pastures. No better instance of the quickness with which animals perceive danger need be mentioned than their migration from the Big Horn Mountains, when that once admirable game-country was suddenly invaded by hunters from all parts of the world. It is true that the game was slaughtered in vast numbers, but it is equally true that the animals migrated to less disturbed regions. For years the Big Horn Mountains have been known as a gameless country; "shot out" was the expressive phrase applied to them by hide and horn hunters. The urgent necessity for game-preservation, if it is desired to protect our larger animals from extermination, is apparent.

At the time the Yellowstone Park was set aside, the country was almost a _terra incognita_; its boundaries were ill defined. Since then it has become famous throughout the world, and is annually visited by thousands of people, attracted there by many scientific and scenic features.

Gradually its importance became known, both as a national forest reservation and as a natural storage reservoir, which, if properly protected, will supply through broad rivers the arid regions below with much-needed waters. Its fitness for a grand national game reservation soon became manifest to a few people familiar with the far West, and with the disappearance elsewhere of our large Rocky Mountain animals.

The necessity for rules against the shooting of any and all animals was early recognized, and for several years such rules have been strictly enforced with beneficial results.

In recent years, with a better understanding of the country, its timber, water supply, the picturesqueness of its scenery, and its natural advantages for game, an effort has been made to enlarge the reservation on the south and east and to clearly mark its boundaries. By this proposed enlargement, the sources of the Yellowstone and Snake rivers, and the greater part of the Absaroka Range on the east, would be included within the Park. It is believed that this additional territory will before long be made a part of the Park reservation by the action of Congress, as it has already been set aside as a timber reservation and placed in charge of the superintendent of the Park. In speaking, therefore, of the superior advantages of the region as a home for animals, the timber reservation will be meant as well as the Park itself.

The area of the Yellowstone Park, as at present defined, is somewhat more than 3300 square miles. The central portion is a broad volcanic plateau between 7000 and 8500 feet above sea-level, with an average elevation of 8000 feet. Surrounding it on the south, east, north, and northwest, lying partly within and partly without the Park lines, are mountain-ranges with culminating peaks and ridges rising from 2000 to 4000 feet above the general level of the inclosed table-land. Beyond the mountains the country falls away on all sides, the lowlands and valleys varying in alt.i.tude from 4000 to 6000 feet. The entire region stands out as a bold mountain ma.s.s, measuring approximately 75 miles in width by 60 miles in length, which rises high above the adjoining country.

Although it is commonly so called, the central portion of this ma.s.s is not, strictly speaking, a plateau; at least it is by no means a level region, but an undulating country, broken by abrupt escarpments and long table-like ridges of gently inclined rocks. It is accidented by shallow depressions and valleys of varied outline, the irregularities of lava flows adding much to the diversity of surface forms and features. Deep canons and gorges cut the plateau, and penetrate nearly to the base of the acc.u.mulated lavas. These nearly horizontal lavas rest against the steeper slopes of the encircling mountains. The foot-hills, in contrast with the plateau, afford a more broken character, the intermontane valleys become deeper, the country gradually growing rougher until the higher summit of the ranges present an indescribable array of crags and precipices reaching far above the timber-line. The Rocky Mountains nowhere offer a rougher tract of country than the Absaroka Range bordering the Park on the east. Such an elevated ma.s.s naturally becomes a storm center, attracting moisture-laden clouds. The concentration and precipitation of this moisture in the form of rain and snow furnishes during the year an amount of water exceptionally large for the Rocky Mountains. An abundant supply of rain and snow favors a forest growth, which in turn aids to conserve the water. In consequence a luxuriant growth of nutritious gra.s.ses springs up, accompanied by a varied undergrowth of bush and shrub. Observation of mountain, valley, and plateau shows that about 84 per cent. of the Park is forest-clad. Over the greater part of the timber reservation the proportion of forest is not quite so great, much of the higher mountains being above timber-line, or else in the southern part more open and park-like, with long stretches of gra.s.s-lands dotted here and there with groups of picturesque pines.

Across the plateau, with a very sinuous course, stretches the Continental Divide, separating the waters of the Atlantic from those of the Pacific. On the plateau on both sides of this divide lie magnificent sheets of water, notably the Yellowstone, Shoshone, Lewis and Heart lakes, forming a most characteristic feature of the country. This part of the Park has been designated the "lake region." Hundreds of smaller lakes and ponds occupy depressions either in the ancient lava flows or in basins of glacial origin. Scattered over plateau and mountain are bogs, marshes, and meadows in marked contrast to most of the Rocky Mountain country. Innumerable perennial springs reach the surface from beneath the rocks. Around the borders of these lakes and ponds stretch fringes of alpine meadows, affording excellent grazing-grounds.

Yellowstone Lake, with a sh.o.r.e-line of nearly 100 miles, is encircled by old lake terraces and glacial benches covered with bunch gra.s.s and capable of supporting large herds of wild animals. To one familiar with the plateau along the continental watershed it is possible to travel for miles keeping clear of timber by following from one to the other the open, winding glades and long stretches of meadows and shallow drainage-channels which carry the melting snows to the sources of the Yellowstone and Snake rivers. It is in these secluded nooks and sheltered spots that one finds the game.

A reservation for the protection and maintenance of our large game under natural conditions requires an extensive region unbroken by an area adapted for the abode of man or subject to the disturbances of a continuous traffic. With the rapid encroachments of civilization in the Rocky Mountains, these conditions demand that the country set apart should be unfit for agricultural purposes, and free from mineral resources to tempt the cupidity of the advance-guard of settlers. The Yellowstone Park meets the requirements of such a natural reservation better than any other locality that could be selected. The severity of its climate during the greater part of the year renders the region a forbidding one for settlement and permanent occupation by man. On the other hand, the broad expanse of forest incloses sequestered nooks, and enticing gra.s.sy parks, with absolute seclusion in mountain recesses admirably adapted for the homes of wild animals. It is the great diversity of its physical features, offering within a restricted area all the requirements for animal life, which fits it for the home of big game. Abundant food supply, shelter from wind and weather in winter, cool resorts on the uplands in summer, favorable localities for breeding purposes and the rearing of young, all are found here. The Park supplies what is really needed--a zoological reservation where big game may roam unmolested by the intrusion of man, rather than a zoological garden inclosed by fences, and the game fed or sustained more or less by artificial methods. To most travelers who make the accustomed tour and seldom leave the beaten track, it is a surprise and regret that they see so little game, and they are apt to question its existence in any considerable numbers. In summer the game seldom frequents the geyser basins or places of popular resort, but wanders about undisturbed by the throng of pleasure-seekers. If one wishes to see game he must leave the dusty roads and noisy stages, and travel by pack-train the unfrequented trails into the secluded portions of the Park. Few care to take this trouble, as the rules, rigidly enforced, prevent the trying of their skill with the rifle, when they meet the objects of their search. For game protection scouts, foresters, and gamekeepers are required. These could not well be supplied, except at great expense, were it not that the natural wonders of the region, which each season attracts such large crowds, demand for the maintenance of peace and order that United States troops be stationed there for the protection of the Park, and the observance of the necessary rules and regulations. All the large game animals of the northern Rocky Mountains are known in the Park except the white goat (_Mazama montana_) and the caribou (_Rangifer tarandus_), and it seems probable that the former, if introduced, would remain, as their favorite haunts, mountain fastnesses, are not unlike the Absarokas. Elk, moose, deer, antelope, mountain sheep, buffalo, and bears are found. Of all the game, elk most abound, roaming over mountain, plateau, and valley alike, the higher portions in summer, the lower in winter. For elk, the park is an ideal country. They frequent the alpine meadows and gra.s.sy terraces, pa.s.sing freely from one to the other of the open uplands. Where streams flow through these openings, or ponds occupy shallow depressions, the elk resort to them in large numbers during summer and autumn. The accompanying picture gives an excellent ill.u.s.tration of such a favorite haunt.

In midsummer cows and calves frequent the picturesque park-like country near the sources of the Snake River. In my opinion, the head waters of the Snake furnish one of the best breeding grounds for elk anywhere to be found. In winter they descend to the broad valley-bottoms, where food is accessible and shelter easily obtained. In traveling over the country about these feeders to the Snake, I have been impressed by the apparent absence of elk, yet the first heavy autumnal snow will drive them from the mountains to the lowlands, the freshly fallen snow being tramped down by hundreds of elk tracks coming from all directions. In the more rugged portions of the country along the summit of the ridges, elk are seldom seen, although well-worn trails traverse the pa.s.ses of the range at high alt.i.tudes, and may be safely followed by travelers as the easiest routes across the mountains.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Mountain Pasture.

Photographed from life by W. H. Weed.]

In an unexplored country, elk trails afford the best means of travel; they are well laid out and lead to good camping-grounds. Moreover, if there are any outlooks in the forest, or bare points on cliff or canon wall, the trails will pretty surely take one there. I am much indebted to the elk for fine points of observation. Animals are not supposed to be lovers of nature. As regards the elk, this, I think, is an error.

From long observation, I believe they have an appreciation of the picturesque and the grand. So thoroughly have I felt this that frequently when encamped in some beautiful and secluded nook, I have strolled away from the noise of the camp with a firm belief that at dusk these animals would visit the spot, attracted by its beauties, if by nothing else.

Possibly there are sportsmen who, having shot their elk, are not again attracted toward them, as toward other big game; they are easily killed, and the shooting of them becomes slaughter. Deer and antelope are more graceful and less easy to get a shot at than elk. Mountain sheep offer far more excitement in the chase over rugged cliffs. White goats are seldom seen, save in limited areas and out-of-the-way regions.

Buffalo are now so rarely seen that to come upon one in the wilds is the ambition of the hunter. Bear-hunting must always be exciting on account of the element of danger. Preferring not to use the rifle, the pleasures of the chase do not enter into my enjoyment of animal life, and to me elk are the most interesting of all big game, and a constant source of pleasure. I never tire of watching them, they show so much individuality and independence of character and stateliness of manner. In spite of the fact that they are gregarious and fond of companionship, they show less affection for each other than almost any other animal.

I have much feeling in common with an old Scotch friend of mine, a lover of nature and a frequenter of forest and mountain, who spent a fortnight in the Park with the express purpose of reproducing upon his bagpipe those remarkable notes, the whistling of the elk, but with only partial success. The story is told that the elk left that part of the country, and he was unable to keep up with them.

That there are several thousand elk in the Park and adjoining country is quite certain, but from the nature of the case it is a difficult matter to estimate them. Their number may vary from year to year, depending upon the severity of the winter and other causes. Exceptionally severe seasons would naturally cause an increased death-rate. At all events, they exist in numbers sufficient to put at rest all fear of extermination if they shall only be protected and allowed to wander undisturbed. Several favorable seasons might cause them to reach the limit of a winter's food supply, but overcrowding must tend to a high death-rate, and the struggle for existence would keep their number down.

The migratory habits of the elk would lead them to seek new haunts beyond the protected region, offering every year opportunities for healthy, manly sport to the ambitious hunter during the shooting-season.

Moose have been observed in this region only to a limited degree, but probably they occur in somewhat larger numbers than is generally supposed. While they are migratory in habit, their requirements restrict their favorite haunts to limited and inaccessible areas, and they prefer swampy and boggy regions in the lowlands to the meadows and gra.s.sy parks of the uplands. They roam mainly in the southwest corner of the Park, in the Falls River Basin, a level country fed by innumerable streams and springs coming out from beneath the lavas of the plateau. As this basin lies partly in Idaho, beyond the borders of the Park, and the moose wander in and out of the reservation, their protection is a matter of great difficulty; yet it is important, not only on account of their scarcity, but because it is near the southern limit of their range. They do not travel in large bands, and a country tramped up by moose is unknown in the Park. In many instances they have probably been mistaken for elk. I have detected their footprints in the broad valley of the Snake, below the mouth of Lewis River, and also in the Lower Geyser Basin, on Sentinel Creek, a small area, but one admirably fitted for their needs. They have been seen on the borders of the Lake of the Woods, and on the head of Stinking Water River east of Yellowstone Lake.

Two varieties of deer inhabit the Park, commonly known as the black-tail and white-tail deer, the former being much the more abundant of the two.

Being fleet of foot, they roam over the entire area in pa.s.sing from one pasturage ground to another. They show a decided preference for gently sloping foot-hills carrying a scattered growth of mingled pine and maple and other deciduous trees, their natural habitat being the border-land between dense forest and open valley. Such favorite spots affording food, shelter, and shade abound, and present one of the most characteristic features of an ideal park country. Deer haunt the valleys of the Gallatin Range and the lava slopes around the head of Black Tail Deer Creek, which flows into the Yellowstone; but more than any other animal they seem to delight in changing their habitat. The ideal country for deer is that paradise for big game, the valleys of the numerous streams forming the sources of the Snake. While by no means as numerous as elk, deer are found in sufficient numbers to allay all anxiety as to their permanence under the new conditions now surrounding the Park.

Antelope, graceful and swift-footed creatures, restrict their range to the open country, with habits nearly identical to those developed on the plain. They are by no means numerous, and were so much shot at before protection was afforded that they nearly became extinct. But in the last few years they have steadily increased in numbers, and experience seems to have taught them that safety lies within the protected region, rather than in seeking in winter the lowlands outside its borders. Swan Valley and the slopes of Mount Everts apparently satisfy their requirements. In summer small bands roam over Hayden Valley, but so far as I know have not increased in size.