It was our first night at Bowman Lake, I
think, that we heard a mountain-lion screaming. The herd immediately
stampeded. It was far away, so that we could not hear the horses
running. But we could hear the agitated and rapid ringing of the bell,
and, not long after, the great cat went whining by the camp. In the
morning, the horses were far up the mountain-side.
Sometime I shall write that article on "Wild Animals I Have Missed." We
were in a great game-country. But we had little chance to creep up on
anything but deer. The bells of the pack-outfit, our own jingling spurs,
the accouterments, the very tinkle of the tin cups on our saddles must
have made our presence known to all the wilderness-dwellers long before
we appeared.
After we had been at Bowman Lake a day or two, while at breakfast one
morning, we saw two of the guides racing their horses in a mad rush
toward the camp. Just outside, one of the ponies struck a log, turned a
somersault, and threw his rider, who, nothing daunted, came hurrying up
on foot. They had seen a bull moose not far away. Instantly all was
confusion.
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