CAMP LIFE NEAR THE TETONS

One of the most picturesque sections of our country lies in the valleys and depressions formed by the Gallatin River where it winds its way among the rugged mountains of Montana. Sometimes the river steals noiselessly through level spots, forming great pools of clear greenish water, where the big rainbow trout love to bask in the sunshine which the gamy fish love for its brightness more than its warmth. Frequently the stream challenges the obstructions of masses of rock, forcing its way with angry murmurs to its destination. Amid such scenes I fell into repose, while sitting near a large camp-fire, yielding to the heaviness due to a hearty meal and a long day’s travel on horseback.

I do not remember how I managed to make up my rustic bed, or whether I had anything to do with it at all. I simply recall the quiet scenes around the camp-fire, the ruddy faces of my companions as they caught the glow from the burning fagots and the wild scene which surrounded us. I entered dreamland in the same way everyone else does. The unreal realm of fancy I accepted as a matter of course, but when the chill of a cold autumn night gradually revived me to consciousness and the sullen gloom of the silent forest, only broken by a murmuring stream nearby, had succeeded the cheerful camp-fire, I returned to the world of reality with a feeling of strangeness and wonder. I rubbed my eyes to make sure if I was really awake, and lay watching the stars shining brightly overhead. The beauty of the night, however, was not sufficient to keep me awake, and when I had finished my night’s rest it was broad daylight, and my two companions, Jake and Aleck, were already astir. Aleck was the cook and general handy man about camp. Jake acted as guide and horse wrangler. These men could take a turn at helping each other, but each had his special work cut out for him. In packing and pitching tents they were mutually helpful. Whenever things went wrong and descriptive language was required to soothe irritated feelings, their common desire to aid each other developed into a generous rivalry. Aleck was busy getting breakfast ready, but the other man was not in sight.

“Where is Jake?” I asked.

“Gone after the horses,” Aleck answered.

“Do you suppose they are gone far?”

“Oh, maybe a mile, maybe fifteen,” was the enlightening response.

When camping out in the Western country horses are an uncertain quantity. They are apt to wander over a considerable space in search of good pasturage, which is not easy to find on account of the extreme dryness of the soil and the difficulty of any vegetation thriving which cannot shoot its roots deep into the earth. Fortunately Jake soon appeared with the stock.

“We will have the tents up so that you can be comfortable to-night,” he remarked with a look as though he were conveying a most welcome piece of intelligence, for we had been sleeping out in the open for several nights.

With the air of one who despised all such things as enervating luxuries, I replied: “Let that go to some other time; we want to get an early start after something.”

“It won’t take long to put up the tents and then Aleck can get everything else to rights while we are hunting,” Jake replied.

I ate a substantial breakfast, and after finishing that meal I ate a substantial lunch before starting. Needless to say, I felt in no condition for vigorous exercise which I would be compelled to take when our course led over ascents too steep to take on horseback. About lunch time, however, my capricious and unreasoning stomach, like some people who are mere slaves of custom and routine, demanded a square meal, which was not to be had.

Two dogs, which served more as sociable companions about camp than in any other capacity, accompanied us. One of the dogs was a large-sized bull-terrier, rather old and at times inclined to be cross. This animal answered to the name of Major. Major had a peculiar trait, which it is hard to account for. In the evening, when the cook pulled out his harmonicon and began to perform on it, Major would stick his nose straight up in the air and emit the most doleful and lugubrious wail I ever listened to.

The other dog was a fox-terrier, named Jack, like most of his species, a very animated little creature, always ready for a scrap. This disposition was a source of annoyance at times, because Jack had a strong prejudice against porcupines, and on several occasions I have had to sit on the ground and help pull the quills out of his hide after one of these encounters.

As I was leisurely riding along some distance behind the guide I saw him stop on a slight elevation somewhat in advance, and at the same time I heard the dogs barking very savagely. Jake made a sign to me to hurry up. When I arrived at the spot I saw a couple of coyotes not more than forty yards away yelping and tantalizing the dogs. I dismounted, after pulling my rifle out of its scabbard, and brought it carelessly to my shoulder. Jake in the meantime had unsheathed his knife ready to strip the hides.

I fired, and, much to my surprise, both of the coyotes vanished with startling suddenness. I had evidently missed, probably overshooting. I think it was about the worst shot I ever made, and I never could understand it. A sportsman will once in a while flinch through some muscular contraction which it is hard to account for. The thick sage brush and intervening hills made a second shot practically hopeless. Jake seemed overcome with emotion, quite as much as myself. For once his eloquent tongue failed him; the words appeared to stick in his throat. His wide open eyes and his distended jaws, which seemed to be pried open with a quid of tobacco in one corner of his mouth, betrayed his astonishment. In silence we remounted and rode a considerable space without speaking a word.

Finally Jake opened the conversation with all the tact of an accomplished diplomat.

Turning in his saddle and looking intently at me he exclaimed: “Say, do you know what I would do if I missed a shot like that?”

“No,” I replied.

“I would take that gun and smash it over the first rock I came across.”

I quite agreed with him that it was the fault of the gun, but, strange to say, I did not take his advice. I still have the weapon and I can recall some of its achievements, which are not wholly discreditable.

Several days passed quite uneventfully except for a rather novel experience. While sitting around the camp-fire one evening our attention was attracted by the noise of some animal breaking through the undergrowth. The sound of cracking branches and pattering hoofs seemed to approach closer.

“That’s one of the horses, and he seems inclined to be sociable,” said Jake as he leaned over to lay hold of a good-sized stick to cast at him.

The animal presently appeared, coming straight to the camp-fire, but when fairly revealed by the light the horse we were about to drive unceremoniously away developed a splendid set of antlers. We were confronted by a black-tailed deer which had been attracted by the strange fascination of the blaze to within several paces, where he stood perfectly still. No one moved nor uttered a word for a considerable space for fear of alarming our timid guest. It was a charming sight to watch the graceful and shapely form of the deer, his head crowned with a perfectly balanced set of antlers, the wide open eyes staring in bewilderment at three rough looking men sitting around the fire like petrified images. The deer held his position for some thirty seconds rigid and immovable, except the swelling of his sides in breathing, while the glowing embers brought out in distinct view every line and muscle of the body against the dark background of the forest.

He posed like a beautiful statue with all the advantage of picturesque and weird surroundings to set off his perfect figure.

What a chance for a photographer to take a snapshot of the group with a flashlight. Sad to relate, the only impression I could take away with me was that which was photographed upon my mind. In place of a photograph to show to my friends I am compelled to relate the bare circumstance with but limited power to portray the scene in words; the imagination of the reader must do the rest.

How long the tableau would have lasted I cannot say, if I had not pulled the curtain, so to speak, by attempting to reach out and get my rifle, which was nearby. I knew it was a desperate chance, but I was extremely anxious to secure the head of our handsome guest.

Hardly had I attempted to move my hand in the direction of the rifle, although very slowly, than the watchful eyes seemed to become conscious of something wrong, and the spell was broken. With a single leap the deer cleared the lighted space and was lost in the darkness of the forest.

It is a well known fact that wild animals and birds are stupefied at the appearance of artificial light. Birds are often attracted by it, while animals, dazed by the strangeness of the sight and the glare, seem to lose at times all power of motion. Whether it is because of curiosity or on account of the judgment becoming paralyzed through excessive fear, artificial light of great intensity seems to deprive a wild animal of his usual cunning and alertness. Wildfowl, such as ducks and geese, are notably affected in the same way. “Firelighting,” which it is well known, involves the destruction of so many thousands of game birds every year, fairly illustrates and proves the foregoing statement. Insects seem strangely attracted by artificial lights and frequently pay for their temerity with their lives. What impression artificial light makes upon wild animals it is hard to state. Sportsmen know how easily a deer can be taken at a disadvantage by “jacking,” but this does not account for one entering the lighted circle of a camp-fire. Instances of wild animals being approached when stupefied by the presence of artificial light are plentiful, but I have never known before of any animal actually invading a camp and standing in front of the fire.

When we had exhausted comment upon the unusual incident, which was the absorbing theme for conversation for the balance of the evening, a good night’s sleep came as relaxation from the exercise of the day.

The morning broke bright and clear and quite cold. Breakfast was soon bolted down. An abomination which Aleck called a pancake was the principal article of our repast. This dish compensated by its size and quantity for what it lacked in other respects. Even Jake, whose digestion might excite the envy of an ostrich, hesitated before tackling a second one. Aleck, seeing his uncertain look, asked him whether he would have another pancake.

“Only a small piece about the size of your foot,” Jake replied.

Having saddled the horses the guide took a course which led along a rocky defile for a considerable distance. While looking up at the red sandstone cliffs, which overhung us, and admiring the contrast their rugged outlines furnished against the clear blue of the sky, I saw a large bald-headed eagle perched upon a commanding eminence. His figure was sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, and although I knew he was quite a distance off, I was somewhat surprised when the guide computed the range at 300 yards at least. I reined up my horse and threw the lines over his head. As Jake saw me alight to take aim, a sort of weary expression came over his face. He was evidently thinking of the coyotes. After carefully sighting the bird and gauging the range according to the estimate I had received, I fired. For several seconds the wings fluttered, as the eagle strove to balance himself on his perch, and then he collapsed in a lifeless mass, a few feet below.

Having watched the lifeless shape a few seconds, I reloaded the rifle without betraying any signs of emotion or uttering a word. Although my eyes were turned in a different direction, I felt conscious of a penetrating gaze which seemed to go through me like an X-ray and read my inmost thought. Turning to mount my horse, I met the wide-open eyes of Jake staring at me in astonishment. Neither of us said a word for some time, but Jake was thinking, wondering whether it was an accident or a fair exhibition of my skill. The only data he had to work on in drawing his conclusions was the previous bad marksmanship in shooting at the coyotes, and the telling recent shot at the eagle, which I seemed to regard as a matter of course, but I acted the same way when I missed the coyotes.

Jake displayed the same resourcefulness that a curious woman will sometimes exercise upon receiving a letter: first she looks at the post-mark, then at the handwriting of the address and, after exhausting all the pros and cons to determine what the contents of the letter are, finally strikes upon a happy idea—she opens the letter and reads it. After Jake had thoroughly turned the incident over in his mind he finally remarked, in a tone pitched between an exclamation and an interrogation point: “I guess you were surprised when you fetched that bird down?” My presence of mind did not leave me; I gave Jake good advice about marksmanship and shooting in general. He thanked me and said he hoped I would give him some points about guiding and outfitting, as he was trying to learn the business.

Game being rather scarce in this section we concluded to move camp and try our luck in the Jackson’s Hole country. For a short time I made headquarters near a ranch on Jackson’s Lake. This body of water is situated quite close to the Grand Tetons, which tower thousands of feet above its surface. The crest of these great formations, like a mighty arm stretching a curtain over the western sky, receives the rays of the morning sun long before they reach the narrow valley below. It is interesting and beautiful to see the golden light slowly creeping down the slopes of these great mountains, until at last the sun, having climbed well into the sky, suddenly pours its golden flood of light in one immense deluge into the lake. The transition is startling.

The trout in the lake grow to a very large size and are very gamy. There are a few hot springs in this locality which, however, do not affect the temperature of the water, which is very cold the year round. The lake derives its main supply from the melting snows of the surrounding mountains.

I concluded to enjoy a morning’s sport fishing, and for that purpose secured a boat from the ranchman who threw in his services as well. We poled up the outlet, which was a very clear and swift stream. The trout swarmed under the boat at times in great numbers and many of them of considerable size. Flocks of wild ducks and geese, winging their way to their feeding grounds, broke the stillness of the early morning, for it was before daybreak that we started, when the stars were beginning to pale in the sky. The trout made their presence quite noticeable, frequently disturbing the surface of the water, and sometimes a big one would stir up an awful commotion. I soon had a seven-pound trout securely hooked, which I landed as soon as I was able to do so, because I wanted a change of diet.

Although I had been in camp for a couple of weeks I had been unable to get a shot at an elk, and had only seen one making its way through the thick timber. The snow had not fallen as yet, and the ground was very dry, which made hunting difficult. It was a welcome sight one morning to look out of my tent and see the ground covered with snow, and it is, moreover, surprising to notice what a difference it makes in hunting. I had not traveled more than two miles from camp on foot when I heard a long, loud whistle—a most pleasing sound. I directed my steps in the direction whence it came, and was rewarded by catching a glimpse of half a dozen elk disappearing through an opening in the timber. They were not going fast, and I do not believe they saw me.

I followed them as quickly and carefully as I could until I came to the edge of a steep descent, and saw the bunch in the valley below. In the herd there was a fine bull who seemed proud of his authority, and occasionally whistled and bugled his challenge to any possible rival disposed to dispute his lordship over the cows he had assembled around him, which by this time had considerably increased in numbers. The distance seemed too great to hazard a shot, and I thought I would circle around on the higher elevations to secure a closer range and better position. Although unfrightened, the elk began to move off with a gentle ambling gait which seems slow, but if one tries to keep up with it in a rough mountainous country he will find his energy pretty well taxed. I soon lost sight of the game and stopped partly because I was almost exhausted and also to locate the herd, if it were possible to hear it.

At first I thought I heard the hoof beats on the ground, but presently recognized that it was the action of my heart, which was beating so forcibly that I could distinctly hear it. The high elevation and the vigorous exercise often produce that effect upon one who is not used to the climate. Other sportsmen have had a similar experience. After pursuing my course some distance along the side of a steep hill my attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of breaking branches in the spruce nearby. I had not long to wait before a spike-horned elk stepped out in front of me not more than twenty-five or thirty yards off. The large brown eyes were looking straight at me with a mildness and apparent absence of fear, which removed all thought of slaughter from my mind, although at that time I had never killed an elk.

The poor quality of the head as a trophy determined my action. After gazing a few seconds I turned my steps in the direction I thought the herd had taken its course. A long, shrill whistle, ending in a squeal, blended with a bray like a donkey, soon informed me of the whereabouts of the bull I was seeking. Climbing over the crest of the hill I finally caught sight of the old bull in the valley with a bunch of cow elk collected around him, which had increased by this time to about twenty-five or thirty. The bull frequently threw his head up, giving vent to his peculiar call, which was answered now and then by several other bulls on the surrounding hills, none of which seemed willing to venture near him. I watched this spectacle for some time, endeavoring to get near enough to obtain a good shot.

Being alone and unaccustomed to the country I was unable to gauge the distance correctly. When finally I stopped at the nearest point I could reach to secure a fair shot (I was using on that occasion a .45-90 Winchester, not one of the modern high-power guns with a flat trajectory), I fired at the bull without effect and saw the whole bunch of cow elk come together in a solid mass and ascend the slope of the neighboring mountain. The cow elk acted as though panic-stricken, all striving to get as near the center of the bunch as possible while ascending the slope and interfering considerably with the movements of one another in so doing. The bull remained behind until the cows had gained a considerable start, and then followed them up the mountain. When I examined the distance from the spot where I stood when I fired at the bull to the point where he was located, I found it over 400 yards. Being unaccustomed to gauging distance at that time, I underestimated the range. The atmosphere is so clear that objects obtain a much clearer definition and seem at times nearer than they really are. A mistake in underestimating distance made a greater difference with the old .45-90 than it would with modern high power rifles. I returned to camp burning with a desire to secure a good trophy.

The next day I went out with Jake. We separated, agreeing to meet at a certain place, which, through some misunderstanding, we failed to accomplish. I soon ran upon the tracks of a big bull elk, which led directly up the steep side of a mountain. This I climbed for about six hundred feet with some trouble, when I noticed that the tracks had begun to turn and tended downward. I continued to follow them until they brought me again to the foot of the mountain, within about thirty feet of the point where I first started to trace them up. I finally ran across my guide again, and it was not long before his keen eyes picked out an elk at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards, just visible among some spruce trees. It was a cow elk, and I was indisposed to shoot it, but being reminded of the condition of the larder I concluded to try my luck. The crack of the rifle was followed by the disappearance of the animal in the timber, and I thought I had missed, but was reassured to the contrary, and when I reached the spot where the elk had stood I saw a few traces of blood, which shortly led to a brown form lying among the green spruce trees—the elk was stone dead. Standing over Jake, who was engaged in dressing the elk, I asked him if he thought I ought to smash the rifle over a rock. Looking up from his dirty work, besmeared with perspiration and gore, he replied with a grin, “Not when she throws lead like that.”

My time was drawing to a close, and although I had abundant opportunities to kill animals with inferior heads, that kind of sport did not satisfy me, and I left them to die a natural death, unless some tooth hunter has cut their existence short.

The final day passed without result, and I had to leave for a later period a more successful hunt for trophies.

The last night around the camp-fire Jake made entertaining by relating to me some of his personal experiences. The following story was told me as absolutely true: The guide had struck the trail of a mountain lion, which he followed with his pack of dogs to a tree where the trail ended. Naturally he expected to find the lion in the tree. Much to his surprise there was no lion in the tree, and no tracks of a lion leading away from the tree. The only tracks discernible were the tracks of an elk. Finally a bloodhound in the pack started off on the elk tracks. This seemed very strange, because the dogs had been thoroughly broken from following anything except lions and bobcats. The guide tried to call the dog back, but he continued to follow the elk tracks, and the rest of the pack joined in the pursuit. Following the tracks about a quarter of a mile, there appeared in the snow signs of a struggle, and then an impression upon the ground of a large animal which the elk had evidently unseated. The lion’s tracks were distinctly visible from this point for a considerable distance, until he took refuge in a pinyon tree.

It was plain that the mountain lion had jumped upon the back of a passing elk and had stolen a free ride, which he enjoyed until his saddle horse dismounted him. “That shows what a wonderfully intelligent animal a dog is,” said Jake; “just to think that they should have reasoned it out that the lion had ridden off on the elk, when I was puzzled myself to find out what had become of him.”

“Do you suppose,” chimed in Aleck, “that the dogs showed intelligence because they knew more than you did?”

BLOODLESS SPORT

There has developed in recent years a sentiment which has declared itself strongly in opposition to taking animal life for the sake of sport. The camera has been recommended as a substitute for the death-dealing firearm. A great many people have discussed this subject without possessing a clear idea of what constitutes real sport.

To obtain a better understanding of the subject we may classify those who hunt for the purpose of destroying wild life under three divisions: sportsmen, market hunters and butchers. The last expression I have employed in a peculiar sense as indicating a very objectionable class in itself. By a process of elimination one may arrive at the true conception of a sportsman after first grasping the meaning of the term market hunter and butcher, and then disabusing the mind of both of those conceptions. The term butcher is applicable to whomever engages in the wanton and wasteful destruction of animal life with no idea of utilizing the remains. To the mind of such persons a sportsman’s goal is a slaughter pen. The game butcher recognizes no rules, but prides himself on the amount of havoc he can produce in a flock of birds or a herd of wild animals, and speaks with glee of the quantity of game he has destroyed. The market hunter, as the name implies, is out for business. The rules of sport do not interest him; it is merely a question of dollars and cents; he kills when it pays to kill, and tries to make certain every shot, regarding any advantage he can take as perfectly legitimate. The worst qualities of the butcher and the market hunter combine in the person who hunts elk for the purpose of securing the teeth, allowing the antlers and carcass to remain unused. The sins of these two classes are indiscriminately laid on the shoulders of the sportsman by people who have a misty idea about real sport.

The desire to kill is instinctive, and, refined under civilizing influences, produces the sportsman. The mere love of killing for the sake of doing so soon palled on people who had any conception of sport. The true theory of sport, whether in playing games or in hunting, necessarily involves the idea of a contest or trial of skill wherein there is a certain element of chance. The rapid destruction of game, consequent upon the easy mastery of nature by man, led in quite early times to the establishment of game preserves and the enactment of laws for the preservation of game. The killing of game developed into a pastime, and rules regulating its enjoyment readily grew out of this method of recreation. In other words it came to be regarded as a sport or game wherein the hunted had rights or privileges which had to be respected the same as those of a contestant in any other game; the huntsman must exercise his ingenuity and sometimes his daring and endurance against the cunning and desperation of the wild beast. It is obvious from the foregoing explanation that no sportsman countenances killing, except for a purpose, and prefers to give the game a chance to exercise its cleverness and adroitness in making good its escape; if it fails, it has been outwitted. The observance of game laws for the preservation of game find no stronger advocates anywhere than among sportsmen, and it is to their interest to prevent the extermination of wild life, because if that should take place their pastime would be gone.

There are a number of enlightened people, however, who distinctly disapprove of a sportsman’s favorite amusement and regard hunting and killing game for recreation as altogether wrong. An examination into this state of feeling with a view of ascertaining whether it is based upon a clearly defined reason, or is merely a capricious sentiment, may be instructive. All animal life in one way or another exists or is sacrificed for the benefit of humanity. No one can reasonably combat this assertion. By the very instinct of his being, man assumes to have an unquestioned right to subject the lower order of created life to his use. This assertion of his authority dates from the beginning when the fiat was delivered—“Let him have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the face of the earth!” In what way shall this authority be exercised? Human necessity or convenience alone has determined that question without the brute creation being considered. The beast that is reduced to servitude, and compelled to work the balance of his existence, finds no advocate for his emancipation; no protest is made against the wholesale slaughter of cattle to supply the meat market. But when the sportsman goes forth to exercise his skill, allowing the hunted prey a chance for its life and freedom, the sentimentalist, who is generally someone who never took pleasure in that form of amusement, throws up his hands and exclaims, “How brutal!” It is easy to discriminate against a practice in which one does not participate. Self-denial, when you deny yourself nothing, is an easy and convenient morality. The brute creation is sacrificed for man’s enjoyment, and it is useless to offer capricious objections to a form of sacrifice which pleases another and which does not happen to appeal to one’s own idea of pleasure.

There is a great deal of inconsistency displayed by many who deprecate hunting with a rifle or shotgun, as the case may be. Cruelty to animals seems to include birds and quadrupeds, but not fish. I have heard people who are fond of angling expatiate upon the wickedness of destroying animal life; yet they saw no harm in catching fish with a light rod and play their quarry for a long time.

The huntsman endeavors to kill his game as soon as possible; he does not prolong its agony for his amusement. No protests are made against fishing as a sport so far as I have observed. The reason for this is not hard to discover. The fish is a cold-blooded creature to whom the heart does not seem to go out in sympathy to any extent; the slimy scales do not invite the contact of the fingers like the warm fur of a deer or the soft down of a duck; there is nothing in its “yellow orbs” to excite sentimental regard; it is not an object one would pet or fondle like a spotted fawn; wanting in qualities which appeal to the fancy, no plea is set up in its behalf. In further evidence of the inconsistency in question I have heard ladies almost melt with emotion while deprecating the destruction of animal life by the sportsman, who yet seem little affected by the recital of the lingering death agony of the poor creatures caught in traps to furnish the furs which minister to female vanity.

The universal custom of sacrificing animal life in some form or another makes it impossible for one to condemn the sportsman’s method of destroying it without the charge of inconsistency. Once concede that the right to take the life of dumb creatures exists, and the individual must decide in what way that right shall be exercised, with the limitations which civilization places upon the exercise of all natural rights.

WESTERN CAMP LIFE

We read of the big game which once frequented the Western part of the United States in such large numbers; yet in traveling over that section in a Pullman it is surprising that we seldom see any evidence of it. Leaving the line of the railway and settlement, the monotony of the sterile plain covered with sagebrush is unrelieved by signs of animal life, except horses and cattle and occasionally herds of sheep. The old life has passed and the new has hardly developed sufficiently to supply its place.

Here and there may be found spots which excite the ardor of sportsmen, but they are generally inaccessible except through the agency of a competent guide. The great herds of buffalo which once swept over the plains in such vast numbers as to endanger the life of the pioneer, have disappeared entirely; the elk have almost vanished and their annual migrations have ceased to be a terror to the ranchman, who fenced in his hay to protect it from the famished herds. Even the smaller game has greatly diminished.

There are yet some localities where primeval conditions still continue to a great extent; of these the most noted is the country south of the Yellowstone National Park. To the providential care of the National Government, in laying out this great preserve, is due the preservation of the principal sport which now remains. Large bands of elk frequent this preserve during the greater part of the year, until the heavy snows drive them down from the higher elevations to obtain pasturage. Other game besides elk may be hunted in the country adjacent to the park, such as sheep, antelope and blacktail deer, besides smaller animals. With a pack of well trained dogs it is also possible to hunt with success cougars, bobcats, lynx and sometimes bear. Elk and deer do not, as a rule, frequent the same locality to any extent. If one desires to hunt sheep and goats a still different plan of operation must be adopted, while antelope inhabit a country where neither elk, deer, sheep, nor goats are likely to be found, except by merest accident.

The time when a sportsman could pitch his tent most anywhere and expect the wild animal life of forest and plain to come to him as they came to Adam when he first named them, has long since vanished. To hunt with success one must be thoroughly versed in woodcraft, be possessed of a good knowledge of the habits of game and the localities where they are to be found at different seasons of the year, have a quick eye to pick out a desirable head, and must be a reasonably fair judge of distance, to gauge the proper elevation of a rifle. The happy combination of these qualities make the skilled hunter; marksmanship, provided it be fair, is the least important of all his qualifications. There are a great many men who are good shots at a stationary target who are bad shots at game; there are men who are good shots at game, who are by no means experts in shooting at a mark. This statement may seem paradoxical but readily admits of explanation. The marksman has his range given him, he takes his time, and is not betrayed into sudden action. Change these conditions and he is out of his element. If his eye is not trained to judge distance in timber or on the plain, he can easily misgauge it, and shooting at a moving object he cannot take his time; the absence of any spot on the animal near the point he is aiming at is another disadvantage to the man of the target. The practiced hunter knows his distance; his keen eye readily distinguishes his quarry, although it may blend with the landscape, so that the unpracticed eye might easily overlook it; he is accustomed to take a quick sight and shoot, making proper allowances for the moving object; if a rapid advance is possible and necessary to cut off the game before it can pass a given point for which it is heading, the hunter chooses his course, as if by intuition, and often has a chance to get several more shots where another would fail of his opportunity. The skill of a hunter generally brings him within such proximity of game as to relieve him of the necessity of making an extra difficult shot. It is surprising how seldom the huntsman discharges his rifle compared to one who practices at a target. The man who is fond of target practice will probably use up as many rounds of ammunition in one afternoon shooting at a mark as the average huntsman will consume in an entire year.

A sportsman who is a fair shot, and who goes to a locality where game is fairly plentiful, has every reason in the world to expect success, provided he is accompanied by a real hunter, such an one as I have above described. It is very important to employ a competent guide if one expects a successful hunt. When I speak of a competent guide I mean a man who is a good hunter and also capable of managing a hunting outfit.

Guides may be divided into three classes:

(1) Ordinary frauds who are watching an opportunity to “work” some “dude,” by which name sportsmen are sometimes designated in the slang of the country.

(2) Backwoodsmen who are good hunters and tireless and will supply a sportsman with the best they know how to provide, but being ignorant of the ordinary comforts of civilized life, treat their sportsmen with the same cruel neglect to which they have accustomed themselves.

(3) The man who makes a regular business of acting as a guide, who is a good hunter and who also knows how to provide a first-class outfit.

Game has greatly decreased before the advance of civilization and the wanton slaughter which took no thought of the future; the wild life which survives owes its preservation to the almost inaccessible character of the country in which it has taken refuge, and to its own cunning, which of necessity has become very acute.

To know the habitat of game and outwit its wariness requires the skill of the practiced hunter.

We have heard a great deal about roughing it. That phrase as formerly understood must be greatly qualified if the modern sportsman patronizes an up-to-date outfit.

Going to a wild and rather inaccessible country has about it a certain charm of novelty, and part of that charm grows out of the idea of roughing it. Some people have a tendency to greatly exaggerate the ordeals through which they pass in order that they may enhance the interest of their experience. This goes with the weakness for overstating the distance and increasing the apparent difficulty of the shots which they make in securing their trophies, in which error they are too frequently sustained by the somewhat elastic conscience of the guide. This is an age of progress, and that phrase applies to methods of enjoying sport quite as well as it does to anything else. Having good sport with comfort in camp life is simply a question of dollars and cents. The average person does not understand the present conditions of sporting life in a wild country.

It must be borne in mind that in traveling in rough sections of the West, where big game still abounds, although in much smaller numbers than formerly, everything has to be carried on pack horses. What you are to take is limited simply by the supply of pack horses you are to engage. In an up-to-date outfit the open camp-fire, such a picturesque feature in an illustration, has been supplanted by a plain sheet-iron stove which is placed in the tent, with a few feet of pipe attached to carry off the smoke. If one wants the open fire it of course can be easily supplied, and at first a good many sportsmen desire it on account of the romance and novelty of the experience, but the same pampered tastes, which have forced man from a savage life to adopt the comforts which civilization supplies, will invariably lead to the open camp-fire being abandoned for the commonplace sheet-iron stove—very unromantic but thoroughly practical and useful. The open camp-fire, with the smoke blowing in your eyes from every direction, which gives the sensation of being scorched on one side and frozen on the other, does not appeal to the modern sportsman who disassociates sport from martyrdom.

Folding tables and chairs can be “packed” quite easily, and it is much pleasanter to sit in a chair and eat off of a table than to sit on a log trying to make a table of your knees, and occasionally converting your lap into a plate for your spilled victuals. A portable rubber bathtub, if one objects to jumping into cold water, satisfies the desire for cleanliness. With a fire in the stove one can take a bath as easily and comfortably in camp as at home. For thorough cleansing it is best for one to take a bath in a tent in warm water, but I strongly recommend to those who can stand it a plunge in cold water or being soused with a bucket or two every morning before dressing for the day. This stimulates the body and gets the system in fine condition.

For those who find it uncomfortable to sleep on the hard surface of the ground I would recommend a pneumatic mattress. An ample supply of canned stuff insures against the chance of bad cooking, because it requires little or no skill to prepare canned provisions, if the other food in camp is not particularly appetizing.

This article is not intended for the experienced hunter who has had plenty of experience of Western hunting; nor is it intended for the man who has his heart set upon roughing it in the sense that he desires to see how much he can go through and survive. A great deal of the advice given to people has been in the opposite direction, namely, to cut out as much as possible from their hunting outfit. I claim that the average person who desires sport with as little hardship as possible, except what is unavoidable, should be very careful about reducing his outfit too much. Most sportsmen are accustomed to the ordinary comforts and conveniences of life. It is perfect folly for such people to attempt in a short time to harden themselves to the frontier life so they may endure its hardships with the same indifference as the hunter or trapper who lives that way all the time. I have run across sportsmen who have had their hunting trips spoiled by attempting to rough it too much. If you are accustomed to living well and in comfort, it would be wise to recognize the fact that you are a “tenderfoot” and act accordingly. For the average sportsman the object of a hunting trip in the West is to obtain diversion and acquire health. All the roughing it one requires is the vigorous exercise, the fresh air, with an occasional dip in ice cold water, which is conducive to health; the rest of the hardship it is well to leave out as far as possible.

My experience has led me to add to a hunting outfit, the oftener I go out, rather than depleting it. The first time I really saw an up-to-date outfit was in 1902, when I engaged as my guide Edward Sheffield, of Idaho. I joked him about all the things he was taking along and called him a “tenderfoot.” He replied that “he had had all the roughing it he wanted in his time, and those who really knew what it was generally preferred a camp as comfortable as possible.” I experienced during that trip and a subsequent one I took next fall such comfort, combined with good sport, as I never had before.

I would advise taking an emergency medical case supplied with all the ordinary remedies. I have known the time when such a thing has proved extremely useful, and I have also known of sportsmen who have had their outing ruined through lack of some simple remedy.

AN ELK HUNT IN WYOMING

When I wrote to my old guide Edward Sheffield, I was somewhat apprehensive about the outlook for sport, because I had heard that the best part of the Jackson Hole Country had been included in the reserve set apart by the State of Wyoming, where sport with big game had been entirely interdicted.

I was advised, however, that this was not the fact, and pinning my faith to the good judgment of the guide, I made arrangements for a fall hunt. Before reaching the terminal of the railroad journey I chanced to meet some sportsmen who discussed the sport and commented on the conditions existing in Jackson’s Hole. The criticisms were by no means favorable, and various instances were cited of parties who had been disappointed in their expectations. My subsequent experience only served to convince me how dependent a sportsman has become upon the services of a good guide.

The trip from St. Anthony to Jackson was without incident worth relating, except at the start. The pack horses, which, during their stay in town, had fared handsomely on oats and hay and been well sheltered, did not look forward to a trip back into the bleak and sterile mountains with the same pleasure that I did; their refractory souls yearned for the comfortable quarters they were just leaving with the same tenacity that the children of Israel in the wilderness “longed for the fleshpots of Egypt,” but here the comparison ends, for they had not a guide who was meek and gentle like Moses.

About a mile from St. Anthony the whole bunch turned off on a side road and went back to their former quarters. After some delay they were finally got in line again, and with the aid of a couple of Mormons, who, for a consideration, agreed to help them for several miles, we got the pack train properly started, and after that had no further trouble with them.