During our sojourn in that valley the experience of one particular night led us to comprehend at least one of the reasons why the Indians so earnestly desired to retain undisturbed possession of this territory. Their wealth was the wild game, but the only means by which we could learn the extent of this wealth was for each wild beast living along that range to come out from its lair and speak so as to be easily heard and counted. An opportunity for an approximate enumeration was offered by a festive gathering of those wild inhabitants of the hills. It occurred on the second night at Caspar. Paul had been standing guard until midnight. At about that hour he quietly awakened me and asked me to come outside the tent. Taking my rifle, which as usual was lying at my side, I stepped out into the bright moonlight. "I wished you to hear this wonderful concert," said Paul in explanation. My ears instantly caught the multitude of wild, weird sounds that came from far and near and from every point of the compass. Although those voices were legion, yet, since the greater number of them came from miles away, they were so softened by distance that they did not jar upon the ear. It was a wonderfully still, calm night; hardly a zephyr stirred the air; and distance both to the eye and ear seemed to be eliminated. The moon shone from the cloudless Wyoming sky with extraordinary brilliancy and apparent nearness. The outlines of the well-wooded Caspar range were sharply defined against the blue expanse beyond. Their dark shadows by contrast emphasized the undulations of the intervening valley and the glittering waters of the river that flowed through it, all of which were flooded by the soft, resplendent moonlight. Was it that big, bright moon that had brought out the myriad denizens of the hills to howl their wild refrains?