canyon was a mass of blood, and death was abroad in the valley. Not a living thing was to be seen.

"Red Eagle took a horn made of red cedar, and gave one long quivering blast which echoed and reechoed through the alps and was carried across the glaciers to every part of the mountain. Then the women and children came back and once more took shelter in their comfortable homes."

I arose and gave the old crone the balance of my lunch, and told her I was going to see that mountain some day and see their houses, but she held up her hand and said, "Away up mountain long time ago, maybe so, no tepee now."

And I went and left her sitting alone on the old tree, waiting for the Great Spirit to come take her to her tribe, over on the happy hunting ground, where scenes of warfare and savage Sioux would never molest them again. As I left her alone on the bank of the Big Horn I could not help feeling a pang of pity for the wild woman of the Rockies, whose life had been spent among the canyons, and on the streams whose waters had chiseled great passages through those granite walls centuries ago. She who was once a belle in her tribe and had lived to see the extermination of her people, and now wandered alone wishing to die and pass beyond. The earth was not to her as it had been in her youth.

I shall never forget the spell that came over me as she raised her palsied arm and showed me where she had lived a hundred years ago. Something seemed to tell me she was speaking the truth and my trip to that mountain became a living passion from that day.

CHAPTER III

THE GOLD SEEKER IN THE MOUNTAINS

On the apex of Medicine Mountain, whose rugged cliffs hold communion with the fleeting clouds, and where the winds sing dismal songs among the cedar boughs, there the forked lightnings at intervals light up the panorama and a thousand beautiful springs and waterfalls sparkle like myriads of diamonds. The mountain ash and the golden leaves of the mountain quaking asp cast their shadows to make perfect this great wonderland, whose colors are more splendid than the rainbow or the golden setting of the western sun.

Among such scenery one could live away from the gilded vices and the artificial lives of the crowded cities, and it was close to the god of nature these people lived and carved their history on the mountains and rocks, worshipped the sun because it was warm and bright, and because it lighted the narrow trail through the defiles of the mountains, across the streams and through the cool green forests, along the rugged cliffs where the horny hoofs of the elk, deer, and mountain sheep had blazed a trail so narrow and so steep that none but the Sheep Eaters dare travel its rugged heights.

Along these trails could be seen at the four seasons of the year, all of the Sheep Eaters, wending their way to the sacred shrine, the great wheel, with its gates and its gods of plenty and light. Here on an elevated spur a thousand feet above the Porcupine Basin, standing out to the east, is a great look-out, where the great sun dial with its twenty-eight spokes representing the twenty-eight tribes of the Sheep Eaters, overlooking the great Grey Bull country, the Ten Sleep Mountains and the Teton Peaks sweeping down toward the Big Horn Canyon. There the Grey Bull and Wind River and Sage Creek are sweeping through Big Horn Canyon, with its chiseled walls, more than a third of a mile in height, and its serpentine trail fifty-two miles into the Big Horn River, and thence into the Yellowstone and Missouri and on to the ocean.

Here nature's god had spread with lavish hand the richest and the greatest blessings to the Sheep Eaters. The buffalo down in the valleys, the antelope on the plains, the gazelle along the streams, and the elk, black-tail and big horn on the mountains, the mountain grouse, and the streams filled with trout, camas root for bread, cherries, raspberries, and strawberries, made a Garden of Eden for these people until a thousand years had passed, and the tribes increased to twenty-eight before the onward march of the Sioux across and beyond the Mississippi and Missouri brought them into the Sheep Eaters' country.

Around the base of these mountains were many alluring deposits of gold, and small gold camps had started at Fire Springs, Bear Creek and on the east and west forks of the historical Little Big Horn, all in or near the beautiful Porcupine Basin. But the alluring grains of the precious metal could not be found in paying quantities and the miners had quietly packed their plunder and "hiked the trail" to more plentiful paying "diggins."

The entire village was deserted except for the venerable Captain Jack, who still drew a pension from the English Government which, small as it was, supported him in this beautiful country.

As we swung down the trail which passed near his cabin door, we were hailed by the old veteran, coming wet from his claim with a pan of sand, which showed many grains of bright gold.

"Just took up a small pan, it's sure rich," he said, "get down and we will have supper and some deer steak."

This was too much, for we were all hungry and tired, and the large black-tail deer hanging in the corner of his cabin told only too well that venison was in the larder. Our horses were soon picketed, the packs stored away, and we were all straining our eyes to see the precious gold.

There were many colors, but all but two or three were very fine. They had lured thousands to the Basin, but the yellow metal could not be found in anything like paying quantities. Mr. McKensey told the Captain that I was quite an expert in placer mining and had been in the Black Hills, Virginia City, and Old Alder Gulch. This was enough and I had to agree to stay over a day and see a wonderful clean-up, which would be tomorrow. I wanted to see more of the wonderful Basin and so decided to stay over and see the Captain make his week's clean-up, which should run from seventy-five to a hundred dollars, all told.

The Captain was seventy years of age, rheumatic, and slightly bent. Only when speaking of the English Army he straightened his shoulders and was all soldier. His eyes were a steel grey, and his hair was long and white, hanging on his shoulders, and he wore a long thin beard. He was well educated and loved the mountains with a love only known to the old pioneer and miner. With assurances of a fine clean-up in the morning we retired.

Morning brought the sweet refreshed feeling only known to the tired mountaineer, and after our breakfast of venison, coffee, fried potatoes and bacon, we were off for the sluice-boxes laden with the precious metal.

As we walked along, the Captain told me that the geological formation was something wonderful in that region, but with my lifetime of experience I could see no reason for placer gold in the mountains. The decomposed mountains showed considerable erosion but the rocks seemed entirely devoid of granite or quartz, and there was no volcanic action to be seen. There was considerable iron and sandstone, but no sign whatever of gravel wash. The small particles of gold had surely been deposited by some glacial wash from the north in the early formation of the earth.

Soon we reached the cut where the Captain had done some wonderful work in the shale rock. Where a large spring came out of the ground he had piled the rock ten feet high on either side, and his dump where he had piled tons of dirt was in splendid shape. Here was a notice framed in the miner's style