scrub pines and a thick mantle of pines draped over the tiny flats along both sides of the stream. Here bears—or men—could hide while searchers passed within a few yards of them.
In the deep gloom of the Hole camp was struck, breakfast cooked and the men of the expedition lay down to sleep through the day for the coming night's work. Original alone rode out with the spreading dawn to pursue secret alleys through the mountains known to him only. These devious goat tracks led to heights above the narrow gorge called Teapot Spout; from these heights, as from a seat in a theater gallery, the range rider could survey the stage below, where a drama of swift action was to be played.
From a high ledge of rim rock running like a comb over the summit of a beetling cliff behind the Spout Original made his final reconnoissance. With Tige bridle-tied to a little clump of spruce behind the ledge and he himself flat on his stomach, glass in hand, the general of the little field force concealed in Bear Hole spent hours conning the land below him.
Teapot Spout well deserves its name. It is, in truth, a spout for the bowl of the mountains
