POOR JERRY LANE:
THE LOST TRAPPER OF WYOMING
[This is the story of a young frontiersman, whom I knew, myself]
·········
JACKSON’S HOLE, Wyoming, was named after one Jackson, a pioneer, explorer, ranchman, and horseman. Jackson’s Hole was also the home of horse thieves who, gathering up their captured steeds, would run them into this peaceful valley to feed them on the rich, natural hay until they could be driven out at a different angle and sold to some one who knew nothing of their former ownership. Jackson’s Hole was also the home of desperadoes who had fled from justice. Jackson’s Hole was the place that I was going to in the summer of 1899.
“Goin’ to Jackson’s Hole, be yer?” said a fellow in a big sombrero, on the train to Idaho Falls. “Young man, you’ll never get out alive. Young man, it’s a desperate place.”
He winked at me, shook his finger in my face, and dropped back into the seat from which he had arisen. “Young man,” he continued, “the Injuns will get you, sure. Young man, look out!”
I confess that I felt somewhat disconcerted.