describing the veins, lodes, dips and spurs, running fifteen hundred feet to the north-west and south-east, corner posts, etc.

The sluice-boxes were soon cleaned and the sand and gravel reduced until we could almost see the bottom of the pan—but no gold. After the entire contents was retorted with quicksilver and burned out there was not twenty-five cents worth of gold. The Captain assured me that his partner had taken several ounces out of the claim and had sent it to the assay office for melting and refining.

I said, "Captain, you are an old man and should go to the settlements and enjoy the remainder of your life." He replied, "There is no place on this earth so dear to me as these mountains. Here is where I have lived and here is where I shall die—close to the nature god and his beautiful works, among the flowers and birds of summer and the storms and evergreens of winter."

It was enough. I caught the inspiration and could have remained with him had I been so unconventional. But life held something dearer and I was soon headed toward the cabin.

"Well, Captain," I said, "you will never find gold in these mountains, but if you love the crags, and the wild winds and the deer, nature in all its purity, the bursting of the buds in springtime, the flowers on a thousand hills, the cold pure water, the frisking squirrels, the pure air; then stay in the home of the miner, the prospector, the hunter and the nature lover, until you cross the great divide which is allotted to all men."

Our visit with the Captain was at an end, and we must say good-bye, perhaps forever. Our horses were ready and our packs were lashed on with the diamond hitch. I got my saddle horse and we moved down the trail, the Captain talking about his placer. At last we came to the steep trail, and he straightened up and said, "Well, when the snow flies I will see you at your home in the city of Billings, and then I will show you some gold that will convince you that I am right."

"Captain," I said, "the latch-string hangs out for you, and if you will only come and spend the winter with me I shall then endeavor to even up the score with you for this favor, as I know I can do it in no other way."

He replied, "Well, I am glad that you know it, and when you photo the great paint rocks of the Sheep Eaters, their Wheel or Holy Shrine, their tepees and landmarks, send me a copy of their wonderful works. And may the Great Spirit keep you until we meet again. So long, Doctor."

"So long, Captain, and may your days be full of sunshine."

CHAPTER IV

STARTING FOR THE PAINT ROCKS

Slowly we traveled down the trail full of rounded boulders and stone, our horses scarcely able to keep their feet, and finally we walked and led our horses until we reached a valley far below the apex of the mountain. Here a clear cold stream of water went tumbling down the valley, and here we unpacked and made our camp for the night.

While McKensey cooked supper I went after a black bear, whose tracks I had noticed on the sand at the water's edge. I took a course as near north-west as possible, and was soon among the trees and rocks which I loved so well, and which brought remembrance of other days among the mountains.

After some wandering I struck a heavy game trail, and could see deer and bear tracks not over a day old. I filled the magazine of my rifle and plunged along at a fast pace. Here and there were thick clumps of quaking asp, mountain birch, and on the creek banks were choke cherries and plum trees. Great springs of water bubbled out of the earth, and by one of these springs I found some of the Sheep Eaters' lodges. They were decayed and fallen to the earth, but the rounded stones with which they warmed the water were there, where the great medicine lodges had stood years before, and where, unmolested, they had passed happy days among the hills and valleys.

The old woman's stories of her people were being proved true, and as I passed onward mile after mile I was entranced with the richness of the land, the abundance of game that had once held sway among the hills, shown by the antlers of the elk parched white by the suns, which lay on every side and the rams' horns often seen by the stream. A few bones of the little gazelle were among the remains, and a heavy buffalo trail cut the mountains where once the buffalo passed through this land out onto the Yellowstone.

I had wandered a long way and now cut across the country to the camp through rocky canyons and dense cedar growth. I started a bear from his bed but could not find him, and then found that the bear had started a large band of black-tail deer, which ran about a half a mile and then walked leisurely along, cropping the bunch grass here and there. About a mile from camp I jumped a bunch of fourteen of all kinds, and when they broke cover out of a plum thicket I shot a two-year-old spike buck, cut off his hams and carried him to camp, where I found the boys waiting for some venison.

Our camp fire already lit up the valley, and the clear running stream glistened as it passed over the granite and quartz of the Porcupine Basin. Great shadows were thrown among the trees like the ghosts and goblins on the ride of Tam O'Shanter, who reveled among the witches and warlocks. But we were hungry and happy and turned our attention to the broiling venison and brewing coffee.

After supper we began a study of the mountains and the probable cause of gold being distributed all along the streams in such small quantities. Some said it was deposited by a great glacier from the north, or some volcanic action on or near the natural park, but no theory seemed wholly satisfactory.

When the sun illumined a thousand peaks the next morning, after a delightful rest, we rode away from this Holy Grail of the Sheep Eaters, and it was not hard to imagine the character of the little men who lived among these hills and valleys.

When we reached the top of the divide we took a south-eastern course for the famous Paint Rock country, near Shell Creek and its tributaries. Our route lay through the sage brush of the Bad Lands, and some of the party were very anxious to stop at a mountain stream and catch some trout. There were some old sluice-boxes and deserted cabins, which were very interesting to the average sightseer.

But we pulled on for the Paint Rock, and after ten hours hard ride we arrived on this sacred and historic ground. We picketed our tired horses, piled our packs under a cottonwood tree, and were soon trying to unravel the mysteries of an extinct race. Strange to say no horses were visible on the great calendar of rocks, but men, women, children, and hieroglyphics were crowded on all available places that one could get to register some fact or fancy of this tribe.

SHEEP EATERS PASS TO THE HOLY SHRINE

CHAPTER V

A TALK WITH LITTLE BEAR

The term Paint Rocks will convey various meanings to the average reader. A description seems in order to make more plain what these rocks are like.

Just imagine a stream of clear, pure water running through a canyon, small and narrow, with a smooth-surfaced rock face, cut by the water when the earth and