very edge of the fast current. I know of nothing pleasanter for
you to do. You see, the evening shadow was across the river, and a
beautiful grass slope at your back. Over the way was a grove of trees
whose birds were very busy because it was near their sunset, while
towering over them were mountains, quite peaceful by way of contrast
because THEIR sunset was still far distant. The river was in a great
hurry, and was talking to itself like a man who has been detained and
is now at last making up time to his important engagement. And from
the deep black shadow beneath the pine skeleton, occasionally flashed
white bodies that made concentric circles where they broke the surface
of the water, and which fought you to a finish in the glory of battle.
The casting was against the current, so your flies could rest but the
briefest possible moment on the surface of the stream. That moment was
enough. Day after day you could catch your required number from an
apparently inexhaustible supply.

I might inform you further of the gorge downstream, where you lie flat
on your stomach ten feet above the river, and with one hand cautiously
extended over the edge cast accurately into the angle of the cliff.
Then when you get your strike, you tow him downstream, clamber
precariously to the water's level--still playing your fish--and there
land him,--if he has accommodatingly stayed hooked. A three-pound fish
will make you a lot of tribulation at this game.

We lived on fish and venison, and had all we wanted. The bear-trails
were plenty enough, and the signs were comparatively fresh, but at the
time of our visit the animals themselves had gone over the mountains on
some sort of a picnic. Grouse, too, were numerous in the popple
thickets, and flushed much like our ruffed grouse of the East. They
afforded first-rate wing-shooting for Sure-Pop, the little shot-gun.

But these things occupied, after all, only a small part of every day.
We had loads of time left. Of course we explored the valley up and
down. That occupied two days. After that we became lazy. One always
does in a permanent camp. So did the horses. Active--or rather
restless interest in life seemed to die away. Neither we nor they had
to rustle hard for food. They became fastidious in their choice, and
at all times of day could be seen sauntering in Indian file from one
part of the meadow to the other for the sole purpose apparently of
cropping a half dozen in