Toward morning I slept some, and awakened with what seemed a broken back.  All, except R.C., were slow in crawling out.  The sun rose hot.  This lower altitude was appreciated by all.  After breakfast we set to work to put the camp in order.

That afternoon we rode off to look over the ground.  We crossed the park and worked up a timbered ridge remarkable for mossy, bare ground, and higher up for its almost total absence of grass or flowers.  On the other side of this we had a fine view of Mt.  Dome, a high peak across a valley.  Then we worked down into the valley, which was full of parks and ponds and running streams.  We found some fresh sign of deer, and a good deal of old elk and deer sign.  But we saw no game of any kind.  It was a tedious ride back through thick forest, where I observed many trees that had been barked by porcupines.  Some patches were four feet from the ground, indicating that the porcupine had sat on the snow when he gnawed those particular places.

After sunset R.C. and I went off down a trail into the woods, and sitting down under a huge spruce we listened.  The forest was solemn and still.  Far down somewhere roared a stream, and that was all the sound we heard.  The gray shadows darkened and gloom penetrated the aisles of the forest, until all the sheltered places were black as pitch.  The spruces looked spectral—­and speaking.  The silence of the woods was deep, profound, and primeval.  It all worked on my imagination until I began to hear faint sounds, and finally grand orchestral crashings of melody.

On our return the strange creeping chill, that must be a descendant of the old elemental fear, caught me at all obscure curves in the trail.

[Illustration:  A hunter’s cabin on A frosty morning]

Next day we started off early, and climbed through the woods and into the parks under the Dome.  We scared a deer that had evidently been drinking.  His fresh tracks led before us, but we could not catch a glimpse of him.

[Illustration:  The Troublesome country, noted for grizzly bears]

We climbed out of the parks, up onto the rocky ridges where the spruce grew scarce, and then farther to the jumble of stones that had weathered from the great peaks above, and beyond that up the slope where all the vegetation was dwarfed, deformed, and weird, strange manifestation of its struggle for life.  Here the air grew keener and cooler, and the light seemed to expand.  We rode on to the steep slope that led up to the gap we were to cross between the Dome and its companion.

[Illustration:  Under the shadow of the Flattop mountains]

I saw a red fox running up the slope, and dismounting I took a quick shot at three hundred yards, and scored a hit.  It turned out to be a cross fox, and had very pretty fur.