We were tired of nothing but venison in every shape, and although the German cook, "little Henry," was a good fellow, he could not manage to change the menu without other provisions in the larder. I accordingly devoted myself one afternoon to shooting "sage-hens"; this is a species of grouse about the size of a domestic fowl, and, when young, there is nothing better. The old birds are not only tough, but they taste too strongly of sage, from subsisting upon the buds and young shoots of the wild plant. They were very numerous in certain localities, having much the same habits as the black game of North Britain, therefore we knew at once where to seek them. Our camp was within a few feet of the little stream, just within the forest at the bottom of the valley; the dense mass of spruce firs extended for 8 or 10 miles along the slopes, only broken at intervals by gaps a few hundred yards wide, which divided the forest from top to base, and formed admirable places for ascending to the great plateau on the summit. This plateau extended for several miles, and was nearly level, the surface being liberally strewed with stones about 2 feet in length, but exceedingly flat, as though prepared for roofing slates; these had been turned over incessantly by the bears, in search for what Bob Stewart called "bugs"--the general and comprehensive American name for every insect. We found a number of sage-hens upon this plateau, and I picked out the young ones with my rabbit rifle, as they ran upon the sage-covered ground. Texas Bill was soon loaded with game, and discarding the old birds that had been killed by mistake, we descended the grass-covered gap between the forests, and returned direct to camp. Little Henry had now a change of materials for our dinner. It was nearly dusk, and I went into the small tent to have a hot bath after the day's work. I was just drying myself, after the operation of washing, when I heard an excited voice shout "Bears! bears!" It was useless for me to ask questions through the canvas, therefore I hurried on my clothes and ran out. Texas Bill was gone. It appeared that two large bears had been seen as they came along the glen, and turned up the open slope, by which we had descended after shooting the sage-hens. My best horse had not been unsaddled, as the evening was chilly; therefore Texas Bill had immediately jumped into the saddle, and was off in full pursuit. "What rifle did he take?" I inquired of little Henry. "He didn't take any rifle, but he's got his six-shooter, which is much better in his hands, as he knows it," was the reply.