When the storm threatened I went back to the horses.  It broke, but was not severe after all.  At length R.C. and the men returned and we mounted to ride back to camp.  The storm blew away, leaving the sky clear and blue, and the sun shone warm.  We had an hour of winding in and out among windfalls of timber, and jumping logs, and breaking through brush.  Then the way sloped down to a beautiful forest, shady and green, full of mossy dells, almost overgrown with ferns and low spreading ground pine or spruce.  The aisles of the forest were long and shaded by the stately spruces.  Water ran through every ravine, sometimes a brawling brook, sometimes a rivulet hidden under overhanging mossy banks.  We scared up two lonely grouse, at long intervals.  At length we got into fallen timber, and from that worked into a jumble of rocks, where the going was rough and dangerous.

The afternoon waned as we rode on and on, up and down, in and out, around, and at times the horses stood almost on their heads, sliding down steep places where the earth was soft and black, and gave forth a dank odor.  We passed ponds and swamps, and little lakes.  We saw where beavers had gnawed down aspens, and we just escaped miring our horses in marshes, where the grass grew, rich and golden, hiding the treacherous mire.  The sun set, and still we did not seem to get anywhere.  I was afraid darkness would overtake us, and we would get lost in the woods.  Presently we struck an old elk trail, and following that for a while, came to a point where R.C. and I recognized a tree and a glade where we had been before—­and not far from camp—­a welcome discovery.

Next day we broke camp and started across country for new territory near Whitley’s Peak.

We rode east up the mountain.  After several miles along an old logging road we reached the timber, and eventually the top of the ridge.  We went down, crossing parks and swales.  There were cattle pastures, and eaten over and trodden so much they had no beauty left.  Teague wanted to camp at a salt lick, but I did not care for the place.

We went on.  The dogs crossed a bear trail, and burst out in a clamor.  We had a hard time holding them.

The guide and I had a hot argument.  I did not want to stay there and chase a bear in a cow pasture....  So we went on, down into ranch country, and this disgusted me further.  We crossed a ranch, and rode several miles on a highway, then turned abruptly, and climbed a rough, rocky ridge, covered with brush and aspen.  We crossed it, and went down for several miles, and had to camp in an aspen grove, on the slope of a ravine.  It was an uninviting place to stay, but as there was no other we had to make the best of it.  The afternoon had waned.  I took a gun and went off down the ravine, until I came to a deep gorge.  Here I heard the sound of a brawling brook.  I sat down for an hour, but saw no game.