The bison of the plains and the prairies have now vanished; and so few of their brethren of the mountains and the northern forests are left, that they can just barely be reckoned among American game; but whoever is so fortunate as to find any of these animals must work his hardest, and show all his skill as a hunter if he wishes to get one.
In the fall of 1889 I heard that a very few bison were still left around the head of Wisdom river.

Thither I went and hunted faithfully; there was plenty of game of other kind, but of bison not a trace did we see.
Nevertheless a few days later that same year I came across these great wild cattle at a time when I had no idea of seeing them.
It was, as nearly as we could tell, in Idaho, just south of the Montana boundary line, and some twenty-five miles west of the line of Wyoming.
We were camped high among the mountains, with a small pack-train.

On the day in question we had gone out to find moose, but had seen no sign of them, and had then begun to climb over the higher peaks with an idea of getting sheep.

The old hunter who was with me was, very fortunately, suffering from rheumatism, and he therefore carried a long staff instead of his rifle; I say fortunately, for if he had carried his rifle it would have been impossible to stop his firing at such game as bison, nor would he have spared the cows and calves.
About the middle of the afternoon we crossed a low, rocky ridge, above timber line, and saw at our feet a basin or round valley of singular beauty.

Its walls were formed by steep mountains.