On our way down the lake we passed the beautiful Sun Camp and the chalets of the Great Northern, perched upon the very spot where Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill and I killed many a bighorn and goat in times gone by. It was a favorite wintering place of the animals, for the winds kept the steep mountain slope practically bare from snow. And passing the mouth of the creek just above the camp, I remembered that I had named it after Thomas, and Colonel Robert, and the Honorable Cecil Baring, of London, with whom I often hunted back in the eighties. In those days there were many bighorn and goats, and not a few grizzlies back in the basin at the head of the creek. And what amusing and sometimes exciting adventures we had with them! One morning we espied a big "billy" goat on a ledge, and just as we saw him he moved to the back side of it and lay down, showing only an inch or two of the top of his back. "Who will go up and rout him out, so that I can get a shot?" asked Colonel Baring, and Jack Bean, of Yellowstone fame, volunteered. It was to be a steep, almost straight-up climb, so Jack laid down his rifle and started without encumbrance of any kind. At last he reached the shelf and stood up on it, and that "billy" came for him, head down! And Jack! Never have I seen a man come down a dangerous cliff so fast as he did! And he kept coming, falling, sliding, rolling, and then Colonel Baring fired and dropped the goat, and man and animal came the rest of the way to the foot of the place together! We had been too much concerned for the safety of our friend to laugh, but when he at last stood up and faced us, bloody, half-naked, but not seriously hurt, we roared. But Jack never even smiled: "Who would have thought that a blankety-blank goat would go for a fellow!" he exclaimed; and he went to the creek to repair the damages to his person. On this day, halting here and there along the lake, we took some views of the scenery and of our people, and at sunset were back in our lodges. For some of us it is a last trip over the old, familiar ground. My two old friends, Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill and Yellow Wolf, must soon go on to their Shadow Land! * * * * * We were not too tired to-night for story-telling, so, after the children had been put to bed and all was quiet, Takes-Gun-Ahead gave us the following, the story of tobacco, which is called NA-WAK´-O-SIS