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Boone and Crockett Club. American Big-Game Hunting: The Book of the Boone and Crockett Club
American Big-Game Hunting: The Book of the Boone and Crockett Club
Table of Contents
The Boone and Crockett Club
American Big-Game Hunting
A Buffalo Story
The White Goat and his Country
A Day with the Elk
Old Times in the Black Hills
Big Game in the Rockies
Coursing the Prongbuck
After Wapiti in Wyoming
In Buffalo Days
Nights with the Grizzlies
The Yellowstone Park as a Game Reservation
A Mountain Fraud
Blacktails in the Bad Lands
Photographing Wild Game
Literature of American Big-Game Hunting
Our Forest Reservations
NATIONAL PARKS
FOREST RESERVATIONS,
ALASKA
ARIZONA
CALIFORNIA
COLORADO
NEW MEXICO
OREGON
WASHINGTON
WYOMING
The Exhibit at the World's Fair
Constitution of the Boone and Crockett Club
FOUNDED DECEMBER, 1887
Article I
Article II
Article III
Article IV
Article V
Article VI
Article VII
Article VIII
Article IX
List of Members
President
Secretary and Treasurer
Executive Committee
Regular Members
Associate Members
Honorary Members
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Boone and Crockett Club
Published by Good Press, 2019
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In a corner of what is occasionally termed "Our Empire of the Northwest," there lies a country of mountains and valleys where, until recently, citizens have been few. At the present time certain mines, and uncertain hopes, have gathered an eccentric population and evoked some sudden towns. The names which several of these bear are tolerably sumptuous: Golden, Oro, and Ruby, for instance; and in them dwell many colonels and judges, and people who own one suit of clothes and half a name (colored by adjuncts, such as Hurry Up Ed), and who sleep almost anywhere. These communities are brisk, sanguine, and nomadic, full of good will and crime; and in each of them you will be likely to find a weekly newspaper, and an editor who is busy writing things about the neighboring editors. The flume slants down the hill bearing water to the concentrator; buckets unexpectedly swing out from the steep pines into mid-air, sailing along their wire to the mill; little new staring shanties appear daily; somebody having trouble in a saloon upsets a lamp, and half the town goes to ashes, while the colonels and Hurry Up Eds carouse over the fireworks till morning. In a short while there are more little shanties than ever, and the burnt district is forgotten. All this is going on not far from the mountain goat, but it is a forlorn distance from the railroad; and except for the stage line which the recent mining towns have necessitated, my route to the goat country might have been too prolonged and uncertain to attempt.
I stepped down one evening from the stage, the last public conveyance I was to see, after a journey that certainly has one good side. It is completely odious; and the breed of sportsmen that takes into camp every luxury excepting, perhaps, cracked ice, will not be tempted to infest the region until civilization has smoothed its path. The path, to be sure, does not roughen until one has gone along it for twenty-eight hundred miles. You may leave New York in the afternoon, and arrive very early indeed on the fifth day at Spokane. Here the luxuries begin to lessen, and a mean once-a-day train trundles you away on a branch west of Spokane at six in the morning into a landscape that wastes into a galloping consumption. Before noon the last sick tree, the ultimate starved blade of wheat, has perished from sight, and you come to the end of all things, it would seem; a domain of wretchedness unspeakable. Not even a warm, brilliant sun can galvanize the corpse of the bare ungainly earth. The railroad goes no further—it is not surprising—and the stage arranges to leave before the train arrives. Thus you spend sunset and sunrise in the moribund terminal town, the inhabitants of which frankly confess that they are not staying from choice. They were floated here by a boom-wave, which left them stranded. Kindly they were, and anxious to provide the stranger with what comforts existed.
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