WESTERN INCIDENTS. 41

FISHERMEN’S LUCK.

We reached our camping ground, in the beautiful val-
ley of Dale Creek, at four o’clock in the afternoon, having
ridden about sixteen miles. Gen. Dodge had promised
to regale us with plenty of speckled trout, from the clear,
cold mountain streams along our route; but up to this
time, the only ones we had seen or tasted were upon the
dinner table of our excellent and hospitable friend, Gen. .
Pierce, of Denver City.

As we were watering our animals in Dale Creek, just
previous to our halt for the day, the General declared that
he saw several speckled trout in the stream ; and imme-
diate preparations were therefore made to secure suflfi-
cient for our supper. The General and myself trolled
the stream for a half mile in each direction, Mr. Wil-
liams following with a gunny-sack in- which to bag our
prey ; but it was of no avail; nota bite, nor even the
faintest nibble, did I have ; but the General protested to
at least one fair bite, and some half-dozen glimpses of
the little rascals as they dodged around the bends in the
stream. We were therefore compelled to fall back upon
our regular bill of fare for dinner, aided by our elk-
steaks, which, being fried with bacon, we found most
excellent.

CAMPING OUT.

We had at last reached the realization of our hopes
and dreams, and were actually “camping out” in the
mountains. We could roll in the long grass, drink our
fill from the sparkling stream, sing and halloo as loud as
we pleased, without disturbing any one outside of our
own little party. The Indians might be watching us
from some of the surrounding crags, and coveting our