I did not get to see the sunset from that wonderful point, a matter I regretted.  We were far from camp, and Edd was not sure of a bee-line during daylight, let alone after dark.  Deep in the forest the sunset gold and red burned on grass and leaf.  The aspens took most of the color.  Swift-flying wisps of cloud turned pink, and low along the western horizon of the forest the light seemed golden and blue.

I was almost exhausted, and by the time we reached camp, just at dark, I was wholly exhausted.  My voice had sunk to a whisper, a fact that occasioned R.C. some concern until I could explain.  Undoubtedly this was the hardest day’s work I had done since my lion hunting with Buffalo Jones.  It did not surprise me that next day I had to forget my crosscut saw exercise.

Late that afternoon the hounds came straggling into camp, lame and starved.  Sue was the last one in, arriving at supper-time.

Another day found me still sore, but able to ride, and R.C. and I went off into the woods in search of any kind of adventure.  This day was cloudy and threatening, with spells of sunshine.  We saw two bull elk, a cow and a calf.  The bulls appeared remarkably agile for so heavy an animal.  Neither of these, however, were of such magnificent proportions as the one R.C. and I had stalked the first day out.  A few minutes later we scared out three more cows and three yearlings.  I dismounted just for fun, and sighted my rifle at four of them.  Next we came to a canyon where beaver had cut aspen trees.  These animals must have chisel-like teeth.  They left chippings somewhat similar to those cut by an axe.  Aspen bark was their winter food.  In this particular spot we could not find a dam or slide.  When we rode down into Turkey Canyon, however, we found a place where beavers had dammed the brook.  Many aspens were fresh cut, one at least two feet thick, and all the small branches had been cut off and dragged to the water, where I could find no further trace of them.  The grass was matted down, and on the bare bits of ground showed beaver tracks.

[Illustration:  Where bear cross the ridge from one canyon to another]

[Illustration:  Climbing over the tough manzanita]

Game appeared to be scarce.  Haught had told us that deer, turkey and bear had all gone to feed on the mast (fallen acorns); and if we could locate the mast we would find the game.  He said he had once seen a herd of several hundred deer migrating from one section of country to another.  Apparently this was to find new feeding grounds.

[Illustration:  Bear in sight across canyon]

While we were resting under a spruce I espied a white-breasted, blue-headed, gray-backed little bird at work on a pine tree.  He walked head first down the bark, pecking here and there.  I saw a moth or a winged insect fly off the tree, and then another.  Then I saw several more fly away.  The bird was feeding on winged insects that lived in the bark.  Some of them saw or heard him coming and escaped, but many of them he caught.  He went about this death-dealing business with a brisk and cheerful manner.  No doubt nature had developed him to help protect the trees from bugs and worms and beetles.