enough food to last twice that many days by being careful what I shot
at. It just kept snowing, so at last I decided to take a little hunt
and provide for the day. I left Jerrine happy with the towel rolled
into a baby, and went along the brow of the mountain for almost a
mile, but the snow fell so thickly that I couldn't see far. Then I
happened to look down into the cañon that lay east of us and saw smoke.
I looked toward it a long time, but could make out nothing but smoke,
but presently I heard a dog bark and I knew I was near a camp of some
kind. I resolved to join them, so went back to break my own camp.

At last everything was ready and Jerrine and I both mounted. Of all the
times! If you think there is much comfort, or even security, in riding
a pack-horse in a snowstorm over mountains where there is no road, you
are plumb wrong. Every once in a while a tree would unload its snow
down our backs. "Jeems" kept stumbling and threatening to break our
necks. At last we got down the mountain-side, where new danger
confronted us,--we might lose sight of the smoke or ride into a bog.
But at last, after what seemed hours, we came into a "clearing" with a
small log house and, what is rare in Wyoming, a fireplace. Three or
four hounds set up their deep baying, and I knew by the chimney and the
hounds that it was the home of a Southerner. A little old man came
bustling out, chewing his tobacco so fast, and almost frantic about his
suspenders, which it seemed he couldn't get adjusted.

As I rode up, he said, "Whither, friend?" I said "Hither." Then he
asked, "Air you spying around for one of them dinged game wardens arter
that deer I killed yisteddy?" I told him I had never even seen a game
warden and that I didn't know he had killed a deer. "Wall," he said,
"air you spying around arter that gold mine I diskivered over on the
west side of Baldy?" But after a while I convinced him that I was no