We next moved down the Big Hole River to where the town of Melrose is now situated. We stayed here for about two weeks, then went on till we came to where the Big Hole empties into the Beaver Head River and forms the Jefferson River.
Caspar W. Hodgson
Coming in from an antelope hunt on Camas Prairie, Idaho, years ago before these pronghorns were fully protected.
Here we did nothing but fish. The buffalo were not fat enough to kill, and besides, we had all of the dried elk and deer meat we wanted. It was a beautiful place to camp, and we had the finest of grass for our horses.
I broke a few more colts, two for mother and four for Washakie. Our horses by this time were getting fat and looking fine, but my little pinto was the prettiest one of all. Hardly a day passed but some Indian would try to trade me out of him. One Indian offered me two good horses if I would swap, but I thought too much of the pony to part with him even for a whole band of horses. He was just as pretty as a horse could be.
Our next journey took us a long way northeast. Washakie said that we were going where the buffaloes were too many to count. After about a week of travel, we reached the north fork of the Madison River, about on a line with the Yellowstone Park; and oh, the kwaditsi (antelope) and padahia (elk) and kotea (buffalo) there were! Every way we looked we could see herds of them.
While we were at this camp another boy was killed by a horse. He was dragged almost to pieces through the rocks and brush.
When I heard of it, I told mother to get her voice ready for another big howling.
“Aren’t you ashamed to talk that way?” asked Hanabi.