GIBBON RIVER FALLS.
After miles of mountain climbing and five hundred more of staging in the heart of the Rockies, through groves of pine firs, spruce and cedar, along streams and lakes bordered by aspen, willow and wild flowers, through glades and glens, ravines and gorges, one begins to get some idea of the vastness, ruggedness and grandeur of the mountains and the delicacy of the climate. One begins to understand how in average summer temperature of sixty degrees pinks, geraniums, orchids, mosses, roses and lilies, alternately bathed in sunshine and snow, bloom on, reaching a perfection beyond that of our prairie flowers.
The mountain thistles are beautiful beyond compare. The delicate purple blossoms are borne on slender stems, the dainty green leaves touched with white, drooping gracefully, give the plant more the appearance of an orchid than of the common weed it is.
Over in Hayden valley roam fifty head of buffalo, all that is left of that royal band, the fine for killing one of which is five hundred dollars. Deer and elk roam ravine and mountain side, sleek, fat fellows that make you glad that they are under Uncle Sam’s protection. We passed a group of deer in a wooded ravine, their smooth coats shining like satin in the sunshine as they gazed at us out of pathetic brown eyes that had something of the human in them.
“I couldn’t kill one of them innocent creatures if the law permitted me,” said the driver, who was an old mountaineer and loved the things of the mountains.
Now and then one sees a mountain lion. The less noble game abound also, the fox, martin, beaver, woodchuck and gopher. Ground squirrels run about the hotels and camps in search of food. Under our window one evening three of these little animals were having a tug of war over a bread crust. The crust at last divided, one lost his hold and the other two ran away with the spoil.
The gray squirrels are very numerous, showing little fear of the passer-by as they run along playing tag or race up and down the trunks of great trees.
The Rocky Mountain quail differs from our own in being larger and having a crest on its head.
Both Black and Cinnamon bear haunt the vicinities of the hotels and camps in search of food. A big black fellow was pointed out to us one morning who had stolen a ham from one of the camps the night before. The ham had disappeared and there stood Bruin waiting for a chance to steal another. One of the men walked up to him and gave him a slice of bacon, which he took from his hands. When he had eaten it he looked inquiringly about for more. This time the meat was hung up in a tree. Bruin sniffed the odor, located the bacon, climbed the tree, knocked the meat down and came down and ate it. Then he sat down on his haunches, folding his paws and looking up at his new-found friend as if asking for more.