Colonel C. J. Jones is tall and spare, with a strong, rugged face
and keen blue eyes. During his sixty-five years of life, he has
roped and tied, often single-handed, every kind of wild animal of
consequence to be found in our western country, and his
experience with these has led him to believe implicitly that man
is the master of all wild beasts.
He has climbed trees after mountain lions, and with a lasso over
a branch has hauled grizzlies up into the air by one hind leg.
And once he set out alone to journey over a country that no white
man had ever traveled before, to reach the land of the musk-ox on
the border of the Arctic Circle. The story is told of how he met
a trapper on the way, and how these two, in the face of the
hostility of all the Indian tribes, the wolves, and the cold of
the northern winter, eventually came to the musk-ox and captured
five calves. Then, deserted by their Indian guide, they started
to return with their prizes, got lost in the wilderness, and
fought the wolves till their cartridges ran out. And when at last
they reached safety and fell asleep, exhausted, the Indians,
obeying the laws of their religion, stole upon them in the night
and killed the calves.
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