down on a fragrant haycock to await the return of
my companion. Presently I observed a horseman coming up the valley:
he was a hunter, followed by a couple of hounds, with the carcass of a
mountain-sheep, or bighorn (_Ovis montana_), on the saddle in front
of him. He told me he had killed it on the mountain behind us, and was
taking it to Bailey's for sale. It was an animal something in color
like a deer, and about as heavy, though shorter in the leg, with very
large curved horns, like those of a ram. He said they were numerous
in these mountains, and he had killed six of them in a day, but had to
lower them down the precipices with a lariat, which was hard work.
I asked if the story was true that these creatures would throw
themselves from high rocks, and, turning over in the air, pitch upon
their horns with safety. He said he had hunted them many years, but
never saw that performance. Being asked if he thought they could do
it, he replied that he reckoned they _could_, but would be smashed
if they did. Being interrogated on the subject of grizzly bears, he
replied that there _were_ grizzlies hereabouts, but that he never
hunted them: he had no use for grizzlies.

In a couple of hours Levell returned, having fished the stream for a
mile or more: he had got about twenty small trout. We found that
Sepia had been more successful than ourselves, for she had made some
effective water-color sketches of the scenery.

_Aug_. 21. We started this morning at seven, and drove up the Platte
Valley five miles to Slaight's, through a very picturesque region.
Passed some heavy wagons bound to the mines, and met the mail-stage
coming down the valley from Fairplay, with four horses at a gallop: we
were luckily able to draw off and let them pass, which they did in
a cloud of dust, through which could be dimly seen the long-bearded,
red-shirted miners. A saw-mill at Slaight's, with two houses and some
fields of oats. Then eight miles to Heffron's, at the forks of the
river, where there are a post-office and one house. Two miles beyond
we stopped to feed our horses in a lovely park-like bit of open forest
of sugar pines. This species resembles the yellow pine of the Southern
States, with the same rich purple trunk and widespreading branches.
Many of them had been girdled by the Indians to obtain the sweet inner
bark, which is a favorite luxury of the Utes. We see very few birds in
these mountains, which are too wild for the warblers and