As near as we could estimate we floated about thirty miles a day, which beat the pace of tired oxen considerably.

In one place there was a fringe of thick willows along the bank, and a little farther back a perpendicular bluff, while between the two was a strip of fine green grass.

As we were passing this we scared up a band of elk in this grass meadow, and they all took a run down the river like a band of horses.

One of them turned up a small ravine with walls so steep he could not get out, so we posted a guard at the entrance, and three of us went up the canon after him, and after the others had each fired a shot, I fired the third and brought him down.

This was about the finest piece of Rocky Mountain beef that one could see.