When I was in the Big Horn range in 1881 several shooting parties had preceded me on the two previous seasons, and the bears had been worried to such an extent that they were extremely cautious and wary. There was a small party of professional skin hunters who were camped within a mile of my position, consisting of two partners, Big Bill and Bob Stewart. The latter went by the name of Little Bob, in contrast to his enormous companion. Bob was of Scotch extraction; he was about 5 feet 5 inches in height, very slight, and as active as a cat. In his knowledge of every living creature upon the mountains he was perfect; from the smallest insect to the largest beast he was an infallible authority. Bob was a trapper and hunter; he followed the different branches of these pursuits according to the seasons; at one time he would be trapping beavers and red foxes, at another he would be shooting deer for the value of their hides. This cruel and wasteful practice I shall speak of in another portion of this work. His only weapon was a single-barrelled Sharp's .450 rifle, and he possessed the most lovely mare, beautifully trained for shooting, and not exceeding 14 1/2 hands in height. Little Bob, on his little mare, would have formed a picture. On one occasion I had returned to camp a little after 5.30 P.M., and as the sun sank low, the deep shadows of the hills darkened our side of the narrow glen, and by 6 o'clock we were reduced to a dim twilight. Presently, in this uninhabited region, a figure halted within 15 paces of our tent, which was evidently Bob Stewart, mounted upon some peculiar animal of enormous bulk, but with a very lovely high-bred-looking head. This was Bob's pretty mare, loaded, and most carefully packed with the trophies of his day's sport, as a solitary hunter, quite alone and unaided since 8 A.M. His pony carried the skins of three bears and four black-tail deer, which he had shot, skinned, and packed upon his sturdy little companion. The bears consisted of a mother and two half-grown young ones of the choice variety known as "silver-tipped." He had come across the family by chance while riding through the forest, and having shot the mother through the shoulder, she fell struggling between her cubs; these pugnacious brutes immediately commenced fighting, and a couple of shots from the rapid breechloading Sharp rifle settled their ill-timed quarrel. Bob was the most dexterous skinner I ever saw; he would take off a skin from a deer or bear as naturally as most persons would take off their clothes; and the fact of a man, unassisted, flaying seven animals, and arranging them neatly upon the Mexican saddle, would have been a tolerable amount of labour without the difficulty of first finding and then successfully shooting them.