At its upper end lay a small lake, bordered on one side by a meadow of emerald green.

The lake's other side marked the edge of the frowning pine forest which filled the rest of the valley, and hung high on the sides of the gorge which formed its outlet.

Beyond the lake the ground rose in a pass evidently much frequented by game in bygone days, their trails lying along it in thick zigzags, each gradually fading out after a few hundred yards, and then starting again in a little different place, as game trails so often seem to do.
We bent our steps toward these trails, and no sooner had we reached the first than the old hunter bent over it with a sharp exclamation of wonder.

There in the dust were the unmistakable hoof-marks of a small band of bison, apparently but a few hours old.

They were headed towards the lake.