When we reached the level of the deep gap the wind struck us hard and cold.  On that side opened an abyss, gray and shelving as it led down to green timber, and then on to the yellow parks and black ridges that gleamed under the opposite range.

We had to work round a wide amphitheater, and up a steep corner to the top.  This turned out to be level and smooth for a long way, with a short, velvety yellow grass, like moss, spotted with flowers.  Here at thirteen thousand feet, the wind hit us with exceeding force, and soon had us with freezing hands and faces.  All about us were bold black and gray peaks, with patches of snow, and above them clouds of white and drab, showing blue sky between.  It developed that this grassy summit ascended in a long gradual sweep, from the apex of which stretched a grand expanse, like a plain of gold, down and down, endlessly almost, and then up and up to end under a gray butte, highest of the points around.  The ride across here seemed to have no limit, but it was beautiful, though severe on endurance.  I saw another fox, and dismounting, fired five shots as he ran, dusting him with three bullets.  We rode out to the edge of the mountain and looked off.  It was fearful, yet sublime.  The world lay beneath us.  In many places we rode along the rim, and at last circled the great butte, and worked up behind it on a swell of slope.  Here the range ran west and the drop was not sheer, but, gradual with fine benches for sheep.  We found many tracks and fresh sign, but did not see one sheep.  Meanwhile the hard wind had ceased, and the sun had come out, making the ride comfortable, as far as weather was concerned.  We had gotten a long way from camp, and finding no trail to descend in that direction we turned to retrace our steps.  That was about one o’clock, and we rode and rode and rode, until I was so tired that I could not appreciate the scenes as I had on the way up.  It took six hours to get back to camp!

Next morning we took the hounds and rode off for bear.  Eight of the hounds were chained in braces, one big and one little dog together, and they certainly had a hard time of it.  Sampson, the giant gray and brown hound, and Jim, the old black leader, were free to run to and fro across the way.  We rode down a few miles, and into the forest.  There were two long, black ridges, and here we were to hunt for bear.  It was the hardest kind of work, turning and twisting between the trees, dodging snags, and brushing aside branches, and guiding a horse among fallen logs.  The forest was thick, and the ground was a rich brown and black muck, soft to the horses’ feet.  Many times the hounds got caught on snags, and had to be released.  Once Sampson picked up a scent of some kind, and went off baying.  Old Jim ran across that trail and returned, thus making it clear that there was no bear trail.  We penetrated deep between the two ridges, and came to a little lake, about thirty feet wide, surrounded by rushes and grass.  Here we rested the horses, and incidentally, ourselves.  Fox chased a duck, and it flew into the woods and hid under a log.  Fox trailed it, and Teague shot it just as he might have a rabbit.  We got two more ducks, fine big mallards, the same way.  It was amazing to me, and R.C. remarked that never had he seen such strange and foolish ducks.