It was an entertaining sight to see the dogs catch the large hunks of meat flung to them, which they often swallowed without masticating it, unless one or two bites could be exaggerated into an act of mastication. When hunger was appeased to the extent of a surfeit, the cunning animals would still continue to accept gifts of raw meat, which they would carefully cache in some favorite spot. Each dog knew where he had cached his own supplies, and expected every other dog to respect it. Occasional disputes arose among them, but—though with a bad grace—the dog with a guilty conscience generally yielded when detected in the act of violating the law which holds a cache sacred among dogs as among men.
There are certain very simple and rudimentary laws which the primitive life develops. The rule that the cache shall remain inviolate is well known. The absence of adequate protection for a cache beyond its secrecy, which is not always sufficient, makes it a point of honor among the rough denizens of the wilderness to respect property so deposited. In a primitive state of society, when recourse to such means of providing for emergency were more frequent, the frontier man was likely to regard as worthy of death any one who violated this law.
When I read of the ruthless slaughter which has been wrought among the elk, especially by the detestable tooth-hunter, I recall, with some degree of satisfaction, the forbearance which I exercised upon various occasions. One evening, while returning to camp, I saw in the waning light, about the space of three hundred and fifty yards removed from where I stood, three bull elk standing on the side of a hill, their forms fairly well defined against the white background which the snow afforded. The antlers were less distinct on account of the deadening effect of some spruce trees, whose branches reached below the spread of the antlers. I wanted another trophy, but was uncertain about the quality of any one of the heads in sight. Although I watched the bulls for some time, while they remained practically without motion, I was unable to make sure that there was a really first-class head in the bunch. I finally gave them the benefit of the doubt. If I made a mistake, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I erred on the right side.
The time arrived for breaking up camp. When the horses were packed, the guide and myself separated from the rest of the outfit, in order to secure better hunting. We had not traveled far, when one of the dogs stopped and growled. We both reined up, while I dismounted and approached the edge of a clearing just ahead. Across the clearing some eighty or ninety yards distant I saw a brown body disappearing amid the spruces. Aiming at the spot where the shoulder should be, concealed by the forest growth, a trifle in advance of the brown, which I recognized as the belly of the elk, I fired. Stunned by the bullet, the animal broke into another opening, when I emptied my magazine, which contained several additional cartridges. Fortunately the animal turned out to be a bull elk with a fairly good spread. I should not have taken the chance except that my hunting for this season was practically over, and I had not shot my full allowance. Having dressed the animal so as to keep its meat from spoiling, we left everything and followed the outfit. Shives was sent back with a pack horse to get the meat and the antlers.
At the Shives ranch a hearty welcome was given us. Mrs. Shives proved herself an admirable hostess. I shall never forget the repast specially prepared for us by which she proved herself an accomplished cook. One dish I approached with misgiving, for I could not guess what it was. I discovered in it a culinary gem which in my judgment will hold its own with anything ever prepared by the most accomplished chef to please a capricious palate—elk’s brain scrambled in eggs. My cup of happiness was filled to the brim, but the guide caused it to run over when he presented me with a pair of untanned cow skin shaps marked with red and white spots, which he wore when dressed up to have his picture taken in correct style.
BREAKING CAMP.
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.