After dinner there was an hour or two of leisure, during which the travelers strolled about on the hillside overlooking “Trout Creek” (for which this little encampment was named), securing kodak views, and enjoying life generally.
“Good-by, sor! Good-by, mem!” shouted Larry to his guests, as they at length clambered to their seats and rode off. “Long life to yez all! Come ag’in!”
They now had a dozen miles of beautiful prairie, river and mountain scenery before reaching the Lake. The ride was not without attractions also, that bordered on the perilous.
At one point they were told by the driver that only three weeks before, a huge buffalo had suddenly emerged from the woods, and with lowered head galloped across the road. The six horses of the team immediately in front had been thrown into wild panic, and wheeling about, had dashed off, dragging a broken wagon after them.
“So I had to dodge a buffalo and a runaway team,” concluded John grimly.
The wheel-tracks showed plainly in the turf where he had lashed his own horses out of the road. He added that one of the passengers, a lady from the East, was quite severely injured in jumping from the forward wagon.
They saw deer feeding quietly beside the road. Great white pelicans floated on the calm surface of the river; eagles flew overhead in full view. There are many pumas, or “mountain lions,” as they are called there, in the lonelier tracts of the park, and bears, brown, black and grizzly, roam to and fro unmolested.
But the great feature of the ride was presented about five miles further on—when they were driving close to the banks of a clear flowing stream.
“What’s that creature down by the water?” asked Adelaide carelessly. “A calf?”
They all glanced toward the river, when Tom—who was unquestionably authority on the subject—sung out, “A bear! A bear!”