the moose and the wild buffalo. The lake is the
popular resort of thousands of large white pelicans, its most
picturesque feature.

That part of the Yellowstone River which interests us emerges from the
lake at its most northerly point. It is here a broad swift stream of
some depth and great clarity, so swarming with trout that a half-dozen
or more usually may be seen upon its bottom at any glance from boat or
bridge. A number of boats usually are anchored above the bridge from
which anglers are successfully trailing artificial flies and spinners in
the fast current; and the bridge is usually lined with anglers who, in
spite of crude outfits, frequently hook good trout which they pull up by
main strength much as the phlegmatic patrons of excursion-steamers to
the Banks yank flopping cod from brine to basket on the top deck.

The last time I crossed the Fishing Bridge and paused to see the fun, a
woman whose face beamed with happiness held up a twenty-inch trout and
said:

"Just look! My husband caught this and he is seventy-six years old--last
month. It's the first fish he ever caught, for he was brought up in
Kansas, you know, where there isn't any fishing. My! but he's a proud
man! We're going to get the camp to cook it for us. He's gone now to
look for a board to draw its measurements to show the folks at home."

From here to the river's emergence from the park the fishing is not
crude. In fact, it taxes the most skilful angler's art to steer his
fighting trout through boiling rapids to the net. For very soon the
Yellowstone narrows and pitches down sharper slants to the climax of the
falls and the mighty canyon.

This intermediate stretch of river is beautiful in its quietude. The
forests often touch the water's edge. And ever it narrows and deepens
and splashes higher against the rocks which stem its current; forever it
is steepening to the plunge. Above the Upper Fall it pinches almost to a
mill-race, roars over low sills, swings eastward at right angles, and
plunges a hundred and nine feet. I know of no cataract which expresses
might in action so eloquently as the Upper Fall of the Yellowstone.
Pressed as it is within narrow bounds, it seems to gush with other
motive power than merely gravity. Seen from above looking down, seen
sideways from below, or looked at straight on from the camp site on the
opposite rim, the water appears hurled from the brink.

Less than a mile south of the Upper Fall, the river a