will be but a short time before the intermountain region will use no
coal, that all smoke-stacks and chimneys will be abolished and
electricity furnish all the power, heat, and light not only to cities
and towns, but to farming communities.
We are on the way. There are some districts now where villages, towns,
and farms all use electricity for power and for lighting and cooking.
This is notably so in Rupert, Idaho, the home of the famous electric
high school, described in "St. Nicholas" in September, 1913.
All through that town the lighting and cooking in even the humblest
homes is by electricity. The few small factories use no coal or
steam-power. In the mountain region over one hundred cities, towns, and
rural communities have electric wires in their houses. All are lighted
by them and very many have thrown out coal ranges and cook by
electricity.
The region is one of mines everywhere, some of them the largest in the
world; and nearly all of them have discarded their gigantic steam-,
hoisting-, and pumping-engines for electric motors. There is, it is
asserted, more than enough water-power running to waste to do every
particle of work now done by steam, horses, and men and women in the
region, from impelling the enormous sixteen-wheeled mountain Moguls to
rocking the babies' cradles by motor.
Across the northern part of Idaho and Montana, over a wicked country of
mountains and cañons, the western division of the Chicago, Milwaukee,
and St. Paul Railroad runs all its trains by electricity, as you have
read in your last month's number of "St. Nicholas," while farther
south, across Utah and Colorado, the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad
Company completed its plans three years ago for the electrification of
its road to Denver; but the scheme of the kaiser to lick the world in
ninety days failing, material became too costly to warrant the change
from steam to electricity.
But the power is ready or could quickly be made ready. Every year the
two great companies which have been formed by the consolidation of
numerous small owners of power-plants, are building dams and reservoirs
and flumes, getting ready for the not far distant day when
steam-engines will have to be looked for in the Museum of Antiques and
Curiosities in Salt Lake City.
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OUT IN THE BIG-GAME COUNTRY
BY CLARENCE H. ROWE
In the big-game country! Is there a healthy, red-blooded American boy
who does not feel a thrill of excitement at the thought? In spite of
our civilization, there is, in many, a lingering thrill in the very
thought of the chase, handed down through a long line of ancestry
dating back to the time when the chase meant food rather than sport.
The stage setting for big game is perfect. In the sheep country of
Wyoming or the deer country of Colorado it is at an altitude of from
nine to thirteen thousand feet above sea-level, where the air is clear
and crisp with the tang of winter, the huge stretches of wild open
country lying like a picture at one's feet. Could anything be more
beautiful and invigorating?
A reconnoitering-point will sometimes reveal a view of almost a hundred
miles. Across a gulch of some twenty miles the distant buttresses of
red sandstone rock are painted with slashes of golden copper, the
somber pines straggling almost to the top, interwoven with the delicate
tracery of the quaking asps, now beautifully colored by the frosts. At
our feet nestles a "park" (as the valleys are called), and possibly a
silvery thread of water winds in and out. Nature paints with a full,
rich palette in this glorious Western country! The skies rival those of
Italy in depth, and, while possibly a bit more crude in raw color, are,
for this very reason, more in keeping with the broad, vigorous
landscape.
In the big-game country everything is big--not only the game, but the
mountains, the valleys, and the people. Small statures bred in these
surroundings expand and broaden--it is only natural.
All this seems far removed from the subject of elk, Rocky Mountain
sheep, and bear, but to every true sportsman these constitute fully one
half of the game.
The Rocky Mountain sheep are by far the most majestic and dignified of
the animals of this locality. They are fond of the rock-studded
mountain-sides, and often a huge sentinel ram, silhouetted against the
sky, will reveal the feeding-place of a group of ewes and lambs. The
task now, if one is fortunate enough to be to the windward of him, is,
after tethering your horse, to work slowly and carefully to within
range, usually from two to four hundred yards. Distances out there are
most deceptive, owing to the clear, rarefied air, and an object that
seems to be a few hundred yards distant may prove to be almost a mile.
Elk come next, and the lucky hungry hunter who has bagged his
"six-point" buck would need more space than at my command to tell how
he did it.
Antelope surpass both sheep and elk for timidity. They are extremely
wary and possibly the most difficult of all game to get within range.
They are found in the lower and open country.
Underlying all the hopes and expectations in the hunter's mind is the
thought of _bear_, and of course first of these stands the grizzly.
These are getting scarcer every year, and most of us, if we _must_ get
a bear, will have to be content with a yearling or a two-year-old black
bear. There is no special country for them. As a rule, in the summer
and fall they come down in the low parks to feast on the berries.
Toward winter they are more likely to be found higher up the slopes.
After the first snow an occasional raid on the highest and loneliest
ranches is looked upon by Bruin as "the thing." At one of the ranches
nestling at the foot of Mount Evans in Colorado, miles away from any
other habitation, a rancher put a cow-bell on each of his horses when
turned loose, thinking to frighten the bears. Bruin had a penchant for
the frisky little colts gamboling about the mountain-side and thought
it quite neighborly to chase the whole herd, mares and all,
helter-skelter down to the ranch. It was quite common for the rancher
to be aroused at night by the clanging of bells and the clatter of
hoofs as the horses scampered into the corral.
Sheep, elk, and bear all go above the timber-line. The height of this
line varies in different sections; ten thousand to ten thousand five
hundred feet is an average.
A good wiry horse that isn't gun-shy and will allow packing the game
back to camp is a necessity, for often a bag is made too far from camp
for a regular pack-animal to bring in.
Above all, in the confusion of getting together the regular camp
outfit, don't forget to slip a paper of trout flies and line into the
duffle bag. The little streams winding through the parks will reward an
hour's casting with half a dozen or so delicious mountain trout running
from six to ten inches in length. They are small, but make up in
quality and flavor. When the hunt is over, we take our parting look at
the grim old mountains, so silent and peaceful, and wend our way back
to civilization, happy and humble in the overpowering glory and majesty
of what the natives call "God's own country."
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Transcriber's Notes
Possible printer errors have been silently changed; proper nouns have
been standardised; other non-standard spelling has been retained.
Italic text in the original is shown with _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's Travel Stories Retold from St. Nicholas, by Various