By the time they had started back, the sun had fallen behind the great peak that overhung their road, the air was cold, and the melting of the snow field had stopped. Here in these high mountains winter lingers long, and though in the middle of the day it may be warm, it is cold at night.

When they reached the point in the trail opposite where they had seen the bears earlier in the day, Jack and Joe dismounted and went to look down in the valley to see if they could discover them, but as they saw nothing, they went on.

When they came in sight of camp, however, it became evident that there was some excitement there. The horses were frightened and were running to and fro, apparently trying to pull up their picket pins; but what first attracted the attention of the men was the appearance of their tent, which seemed to have been taken down and transformed into a white bundle, moving a little now and then, but for the most part quite still.

“That’s a comical thing,” said Hugh. “That’s one of the funniest things I ever saw. Do you know what’s inside that tent, son?” he added.

“No,” said Jack, “I don’t know, but I guess likely it’s a bear.”

“Right you are,” said Hugh, “and I reckon we’ll have to bloody up the tent a little to get him out. Take a shot at it and try to kill the beast.”

“All right,” said Jack, as he loaded his rifle, while Joe called out, “White Bull, do you see the cubs in the trees?”

Hugh and Jack both turned, and there, perched high up in the stunted pine trees, were two little cubs, each about as large as a small setter dog, though of course not standing nearly so high.

“Well, I swan,” said Hugh, “if that old bear and her family didn’t come down here to make us grief. Jack, you kill the old one in the tent, and Joe and I will settle these cubs. We’ll have some meat to eat now.”

IT was noon the next day before the various chores about camp were done. The dishes and some small packages of food that had been left in the tent were badly mixed up and a number of packages torn open and their contents ruined. Hugh, fortunately, had put most of the coffee in one of the caches in the trees, but that which had been left in the tent had been scattered and trodden into the ground, so that only two or three cupfuls of the berries could be picked up and used.

“I tell you, Hugh,” said Jack, “it was mighty lucky that you put that food in the trees. If it hadn’t been for that I expect we should have had to go back to the Agency to get more grub.”

“We are mighty lucky that some of these horses did not break their necks, or get away and get lost in this brush. Of course, the chances are we could have trailed them and found them, but on the other hand if a snow had come before we did find them, we might have lost them for good. They’d have been likely to get tied up in the brush with their ropes and to have starved to death.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “we came out of it mighty lucky, but I never expect to understand how that bear wrapped herself up in that tent so that she couldn’t move.”

“No,” said Hugh, “that’s a mighty curious performance, and the queer part of it is that the tent is just as good as ever it was, except for the bullet holes and the blood on it. She didn’t tear it a mite, and that, of course, shows that somehow she must have got wrapped up in it just as the tent fell. If she’d had a chance to use her arms at all she would have torn the canvas to ribbons and we would never have got her.

“Well,” he continued, “it’s too late to start out prospecting now, and I reckon I’ll stay in camp the rest of the day and maybe clean the blood off this tent and generally get things in shape. What do you boys mean to do?”

“I reckon so,” said Hugh. “I believe if we get up on top of this next ridge ahead of us, we’ll see the waters running the other way and down into Flat Head Lake and so on into the Columbia and the Pacific Ocean.”

The boys started and proceeded up the valley. Close to the margin of the lake was a thick growth of alders, but these extended only a few yards back, and between them and the sharp slope of the mountain there was a level space thickly covered with huge rock fragments, among which they picked their way without much difficulty.

The day was bright and still, but the air so keen that the mosquitoes and flies were not troublesome.

Part way up the lake, Jack, who had been watching something on a great rock which rose above the water’s surface, reached out his hand and motioned to Joe not to move, and then, taking out his glasses, looked at the moving object, which proved to be two tiny harlequin ducks busily engaged in dressing their feathers.

The boys approached them slowly and carefully, stopping whenever the ducks ceased the operations to look about them, and then going on when the birds were busy, and at last they had come to within thirty or forty yards of them, and through the glasses could see them almost as plainly as if they had been within arm’s length.

“Where?” asked Jack, without moving.

“Look up the valley down close to the grass on that red cliff. There’s something white lying against it. I thought I saw it move just now.”

Jack turned his glasses in the direction in which Joe pointed, and after a little search, discovered a goat lying in what looked like a sort of cave in the rock. “Sure enough,” he said, “it’s a goat, Joe, but how can we get at it? It will surely see us before we can reach any cover.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “pretty sure to see us, of course; nothing to hide behind at all.”

“I don’t see how to get at it, except to crawl up to the edge of the hill and there maybe we’ll find rocks to get behind. Let’s try it anyway,” said Jack.

“Well,” said Jack, “did you ever see anything like that? That beast just walked right straight up the face of that cliff as a fly would walk up the wall of a room.”

“It’s queer,” answered Joe; “I could hardly believe that I saw what I saw. Those goats must have powerful medicine to be able to do things like that.”

“It sure looks so,” replied Jack, “but I tell you what I want to do. Let’s notice just where that goat was lying and where it went, and let’s go over there and see if the rock is right up and down, as it looks. I’d like to see whether a man could go up where that goat went.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “so would I.”

Rising, the boys walked over to the place and had no great difficulty in scrambling up to where the goat had been lying. The tracks which they saw before they got there told them that during the night the goat had been down in the valley feeding, and had gone up to this cave to rest, in the heat of the day. The goat’s bed had been stamped out among the shale where a trickle of water came down from the slate above, and this accounted for a dark patch on the goat’s side that both boys had noticed. It had been lying in the mud.

“What do you think, Jack?” said Joe. “Could a man climb up there?”

“Well, I tell you what,” said Jack. “If you will hold my gun I’m going to try. I believe anybody can climb up there, but, of course, he wouldn’t want to do it with much of a load on his back.”

“I’ll take the guns,” said Joe, “but don’t you climb too far, and look out that you don’t slip and fall. A man might bump himself pretty badly rolling down here, and it’s quite a drop down to the rocks below.”

“All right,” said Jack, “I’ll look out.”

“Well,” said Joe, “I reckon you had quite a time finding places for your fingers. You cut ’em up considerably.”

Then for the first time Jack looked at his hands and found that, in half a dozen places, his fingers were lacerated by the sharp slate fragments to which he had clung.

The boys went on up the valley and, presently, found themselves under the tremendous wall of its head. There was no water falling over here now, but it was evident that in times past there had been a great rush of water at the very head of the valley, for the ground was strewn with water-worn pebbles and fine gravel, among which grew grass and other vegetation. The valley here was rather larger than at the lake below, and there was a wide, level amphitheater, walled in on three sides by the great cliff and by mountainsides that were almost as steep as the cliff.

Sitting down here, the boys studied the sides of the mountains with the glasses and soon made out a number of goats lying in the shade or feeding. In one group there were fifteen and, on the side of the tall mountain to the north, they counted forty-two white spots, most of which they felt sure were goats, though some of the spots showed no motion.

“I think it was a skunk bear,” said Joe, “what you call wolverine. It just came up on top of that rock over there, about a hundred yards off, and I shot at it. I knew if I moved or spoke to you, it would jump down and be out of sight in a second.”

“Did you get it?” said Jack.

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “Let’s go up there and see. If I didn’t hit it, we’ll never see it again. These rocks are full of holes and hiding places, and if it’s only wounded it will sure get away.”

They hurried up to the rock, which Joe pointed out again as they approached it, and walking around on the other side saw a great splash of blood on the stones below and a moment later, behind a small stone, they found a splendid wolverine, kicking in his last gasp. The ball had passed through both shoulders, making the fore-legs useless. If it had not been for that they would, very likely, not have found the animal, although its wound was mortal. Jack shook hands with Joe and said, “That was a good shot, Joe, and mighty lucky, too. This is a splendid hide. I’d have given a good deal for such a chance as that.”

“Well,” said Joe, “I’d have spoken to you if there’d be any chance that you would have got the shot, but, as I said before, if the beast had seen me move or heard me speak, he would have dodged out of sight and you wouldn’t have seen him again.”

“Well,” said Joe, “I’d rather skin him here, only I don’t know much about skinning a wolverine. I don’t know whether it ought to be cased or split.”

“Neither do I,” said Jack; “but I reckon we’ll be safe if we case it. Then if it ought to be split we can do that afterward, can’t we?”

“Maybe,” said Joe. “I don’t know. Let’s case it, anyhow, and save ourselves the trouble of lugging the carcass back.”

The boys’ knives were sharp and the skinning did not take them long. It was an admirable fur, and as they worked, Jack did not tire of admiring it.

Soon the job was completed and they started for camp.

Hugh looked at them with some curiosity, as they approached the tent, and was much interested to see the wolverine’s skin.

“Who killed it?” he asked, finally.

“Joe,” said Jack. “He made a mighty good shot from about a hundred yards off and broke both shoulders. The animal was just dying when we got up to it and had gone hardly any distance.”

“You were lucky to kill it, Joe,” said Hugh. “It isn’t often one gets a chance at one of these fellows, and up here in the mountains—or for the matter of that anywhere else—if you wound one, that’s the end of it. You can never find him.”

“Why,” said Hugh, “it don’t make much difference. I’ve seen plenty of wolverine cased, and plenty stretched flat. In old times they used to stretch ’em flat, but I never heard they were worth more one way than another. Nice piece of fur, ain’t it?” he said, as he ran his fingers through it. “Up here in the high mountains they haven’t begun to shed yet and he’s just as smooth and glossy as a beaver.”

That night, while they were sitting around the fire after supper, Hugh said, “Now, boys, I don’t know whether you’ve noticed it, but feed is getting mighty short here. We’ve only got a few head of horses, but the grass is only just started and in about one day more they will be gnawing up its roots on this little flat. We didn’t find any feed up the valley, though a couple of weeks later, when the snow has melted and the ground has warmed up, there’ll be grass growing everywhere. We came in here a little too early. None of us could have known that, because none of us have ever been up here before. It looks to me as if it was a long time since anybody had been here; I don’t see any signs of camps, or horses, or chopping. I think we’ve got to get out of this and do it pretty quick. If we don’t, our horses will begin to get poor.”

“That’s so, White Bull,” said Joe. “I noticed to-day that the feed was getting powerful short, and I don’t know where we can go except down the valley toward the prairie, where the weather is warm and the grass has started.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I suppose that’s so, but just think how bad the flies will be down there.”

“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “isn’t there any place we can go, up here in the high mountains, where there will be feed? We crossed a big stream a little lower down. How would it be up on the head of that?”

“I don’t know, son,” said Hugh. “You know just as much about this country here as I do. It’s new to both of us. If you like, we can take a day off to-morrow and prospect a little more. If we could get up to the top of this high mountain on the north side of the valley, we might be able to see something, but, at a distance, it’s pretty hard to tell whether ground where there isn’t any snow is covered with grass, or weeds, or willows. If you feel like it, we all can make a climb to-morrow, and see if we can get up to the top of this mountain and look over. If we do, I expect we’ll find on the other side some valleys and flats, but it’s mighty doubtful if there will be any place where there’s feed for the animals. I think the best thing we can do is to go on back and maybe camp on those high ledges we passed over coming up. There’s some feed there and then we can climb up to the top of Goat Mountain and see whether from there we can see any country that is without snow. There must be quite a basin in back of Goat Mountain, where that big stream that we camped on the other night comes out. It must be a cold place there with big mountains all around it, but we can take a look into it, and, anyhow, at our camp the horses will be able to find something to eat.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I suppose it is. I hate to leave here when there’s so much new country to be seen, but we can’t stay without feed for the horses.”

Early next morning the tent was pulled down and, while Hugh cooked the breakfast, the beds were rolled, the packs made up and the horses saddled. A little later, while Hugh was washing his dishes and putting his kitchen together, ready for packing, the boys loaded the beds, tent and provisions on two of the horses and, as soon as the third was packed, the train moved off down the valley.

The journey down stream seemed much shorter than the ascent had been. The big river which came in from the north was passed without difficulty, and two or three hours later all the snow had been left behind, and they were traveling in the warm sun, over the grassy ledges of Goat Mountain. Here, on a level spot, camp was made, several of the horses staked out in a place where they could not get cast on the hillside, and Joe and Jack set out to try to reach the crest of the mountain.

It was a long, hard climb, breasting the steep shale slopes and then clambering up narrow ravines worn by water falling for ages down the red cliffs. The boys moved along slowly, for neither was in good condition for mountain-climbing, yet their progress was steady, for though they frequently stopped to catch their breath, these pauses were not long. At last they reached the mountain’s crest and, standing upon it, looked over into the valley.

The basin looked dreary, cold and lifeless. No bare ground was to be seen, only the snow, now and then broken by the fresh tracks of goats which seemed to have been crossing the slope.

Jack and Joe followed the crest of the ridge for some distance, and then turned down the hill toward camp, walking among the scattered, stunted pines, over the steeply inclined slide rock. Gradually they worked down the hill, but, at length, Joe made a little sign, at which Jack stopped and looked in the direction in which Joe was pointing. Sure enough, there, a long way off, was a white spot lying at the foot of one of the red cliffs, and the glasses showed it to be a goat.

The boys set out to stalk it, passing very carefully from tree to tree, until, at length, a point of rock hid the animal from sight. Then they hurried forward, but when they peered carefully over the last point of rocks, behind which the goat should have been, they could not see it. It did not seem possible that they could have frightened it. The wind was right, and while they had been within sight, the animal had made no movement.

After a little looking over the ground, they decided that they had mistaken the place which they were now looking at for the one where the goat had been, and that the right place must be beyond one of two points just before them.

The Indian boy crept forward and, resting his gun against a rock, took careful aim and fired. The goat sprang to its feet and, as it rushed across the narrow shelf where it had been lying, the boys could see its fore-leg swinging as if it had been broken high up. The animal had been lying a little quartering toward the gun, and the ball that had broken its shoulder must have passed through the heart or lungs. The goat ran to the edge of the shelf, as if to leap off, but the plunge of sixty feet was too much for it. It turned and ran back toward the crevice down which it had come and reared against the rocks as if to ascend, but Jack fired a hasty shot, which struck the rocks in front of it, and made it run back to the edge of the shelf. Just as it reached the brink its knees gave way and it pitched forward, whirled over and over, struck a ledge, bounded out again, and rolled, an inert mass, down the mountainside and out of sight.

“Hurrah, Joe!” shouted Jack, “you got him, all right.”

“Maybe so,” said Joe, “I don’t want to be too sure, for I have heard that these animals are hard to kill.”

Without waste of time Joe started down the mountainside after the animal, springing from rock to rock, almost like a goat or sheep.

“Look out, Joe,” called Jack, “you’ll break your neck.”

It took some time to drag the carcass to a place convenient for working on it and to get it in shape to carry down the mountain. The sun was getting low, and as they worked the sky became overcast. After they had partly skinned the goat, Joe wrapped the hide around the shoulders and put it on his back, while Jack followed with the hams. They traveled as fast as possible, but it was dusk before they reached the ledge on which the camp was located.

“Well, boys,” said Hugh, who was sitting by the fire and had supper ready, “what did you find and what have you got? I heard you shoot a couple of times.”

“Joe killed a fat nanny-goat,” replied Jack, “and we brought in the meat and the hide. The hide, of course, doesn’t amount to anything, because there isn’t much hair on it, but the meat ought to be good.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “we’ll try it. I am no great hand to eat goat meat, but that sheep that we got down on the lower lake is about all gone and it’s time we had some fresh meat. What did you see on the other side of the mountain? Is there any feed there? Any show at all for the stock?”

“No,” replied Jack, “nothing there but snow and rocks. A goat might live there, but a horse would quickly starve.”

“I’ve heard a lot about Swift Current, Hugh,” said Jack. “What is there up there?”

“Why,” Hugh answered, “I don’t rightly know. I’ve only been up it a few miles and hunted in some of the hills there. There’s plenty of game, I reckon; moose and elk and bear and sheep and goats, and perhaps a few deer. It’s not a long stream and there’s a good trail up to the falls; a trail that’s traveled by the Indians every year, for the Kootenays or Stonies or Bloods generally make a hunting camp there for some weeks in the fall. There are some beaver there, too, I think, though not as many as there used to be before the Indians took to trapping them. I expect we’ll find the flies pretty bad, but we’ll sure find feed for the horses, and there’s some high mountains that are mighty sightly.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I’d like to go up and look round, since we can’t do anything at the head of the river until the grass starts, and, if you and Joe think best, I say Swift Current.”

“Swift Current will suit me,” assented Joe, and Hugh added, “It’s a go.”

THE next morning Hugh and the boys made an early start, and crossing the wide flat below the lake, entered the valley of the Swift Current River. They passed close to the Kootenay camp, where the women were at work dressing hides and occupied with other tasks, while the children played among the lodges.

The valley of Swift Current is narrow and flanked on either side by high hills which, though at first rounded and grass-covered, grow steeper and nourish a growth of pines and aspens as one ascends the stream. The trail climbs steeply and, before long, splendid snow-capped mountain peaks cut off the view to the southwest. From time to time the stream enlarges into a series of lakes, in and about which Hugh detected much beaver sign. Trees and bushes had been felled and, floating in the water or lying on the bank, were many lengths of aspen and willow branches, stripped of their bark by the beaver.

“No,” said Jack, “it wouldn’t. I shouldn’t mind wintering here a bit. I believe there would be a lot of bears in early spring, to say nothing of the fur that you would get through the winter.”

“Yes,” said Hugh, “it’s a pretty good trapping ground, and I don’t believe that it’s ever been systematically gone over in winter. A man could live pretty well here, too, for there’s lots of sheep and elk, and some deer and moose, to say nothing of the birds and a heap of fish in the lakes and streams.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never get a chance to winter in this country, Hugh,” said Jack. “It seems that I must spend my winters back East.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “that’s right enough, too. The day of the hunter and the trapper has gone by in this country, and now we can only do for sport what we used to do for a living.”

All through the morning and until well after noon, the party traveled up the beautiful valley, constantly drawing nearer to the great mountains which towered before them.

Early in the afternoon they came to a wide meadow, bordered by green timber, through which ran the river, flanked on either hand by the towering cliffs of two great mountains. Here Hugh decided to camp, and before long the tent was put up and a smoke built for the benefit of horses and men alike, for the flies were very bad.

Not far above the camp was a considerable fall, where the water from a lake tumbled thirty feet over the rocks into a deep pool below, in which Jack was interested to see a great school of fish. He drew back and made a number of casts, but the fish paid no attention to his flies, and after he had faithfully whipped the pool for some time, he made up his mind that the fish would not bite. Lying on the rocks, with his face close to the water, he looked down upon the hundreds of them holding themselves in place, head against the current, apparently without moving a fin. As he studied them, he made up his mind that they were not trout, and his disappointment at not catching them was considerably modified.

While he was there, his attention was attracted by a dipper flying across the water and, presently, he saw that on a little shelf of rock, almost directly below the falls, the bird had a nest formed of green moss. There was a little hole in the bundle of moss, at the mouth of which the bird alighted and seemed to pass in food. No doubt his mate was sitting on her eggs, which a little later would hatch into hungry young, to satisfy whose appetites would tax the efforts of both parents, no matter how hard they might work.

Keeping on down stream, he soon had ten fish strung on a willow twig, and the load was so heavy that he turned from the river and, passing through a fringe of timber, found himself near camp.

Joe was sitting not far from the fire half in the smoke, and was rubbing a lot of green leaves between his palms and then passing his hands over his face, neck and arms. Hugh, not so near the fire, was smoking vigorously, but seemed to be little troubled by the mosquitoes. The horses were still standing together, crowded into the smoke.

“Well, son,” said Hugh, “that’s a nice string of fish you’ve got. You’ve done well. That ought to last us for a couple of meals. Did you find the fish plenty?”

“Yes,” replied Jack, “there are lots of them, and I want to ask you some questions about them. In the first place that pool right under the falls there is just full of fish, and yet not one of them would rise to my flies. I looked at them pretty carefully and I don’t believe they’re trout. Do you know what they are?”

“Peamouths?” said Jack. “I think I’ve heard that name, but I don’t know what it means.”

“Why,” replied Hugh, “it’s a kind of a brook white fish, I reckon. They’re quite a little like the white fish that we catch in the lake here, and yet they’re different, smaller, different in color and the mouth is some different, too. Some people call them stone rollers. I don’t know just why, unless, perhaps, they turn over the stones at the bottom of the stream when they’re looking for food; but that’s just my guess from the name.”

“Well,” said Jack, “if we get a chance I’d like to catch one and see it, so that I’ll know it again.

“And now, Hugh,” he went on, “what kind of a trout is that?” and he pointed to one of the red-spotted fish on his string.

“That’s a bull trout,” answered Hugh.

“Well,” said Jack, “there’s another new fish. I never heard of bull trout before, and I don’t know what it is.”

“I don’t either,” said Hugh, “except that I know that it’s a trout that we have in these Northern waters and that I never saw in the Rocky Mountains, south of here. I never saw one south of Milk River ridge, I think.”

“When I first got hold of it,” explained Jack, “I thought for a minute that maybe it was the Eastern brook trout, but it’s a very different fish.”

“They are mighty good eating,” declared Hugh, “but I don’t know that they are any better than the regular trout, that fellow with black spots.”

“All trout are good enough,” said Jack.

“Trying to keep the flies off,” said Joe. “There’s a kind of a weed that grows in the wet places and I’ve heard that it’s good medicine against flies, so I gathered a lot of the leaves and rubbed them up and then rubbed them over my skin, and it seems to me that the flies don’t bother me as much now. That net I don’t like. I can’t see when I wear it.”

“That’s so,” said Jack. “It does seem mighty warm and sort of takes my breath away, but it isn’t as bad as the mosquitoes. What’s the weed you’ve got?”

Joe showed him the plant, but Jack did not know it.

As they sat about the fire that evening after supper, the insects no longer troubled them, for it was very cold; almost freezing. They had had a hearty meal and were feeling as lazy and comfortable as could be. Not much was said, but once in a while some one would make a remark which required no reply.

Presently Jack said, “Hugh, I’ve been thinking about that beaver work that we saw down the creek to-day and I want to ask you some more questions about beaver. You told me a great deal last year, of course, but I still don’t feel that I know much about them. I suppose I do know more than a good many other people, but I don’t know much. I’d like to have you tell me something more about them.”

“Well, Hugh,” replied Jack, “of course, it’s hard to find out much about animals that spend a good deal more than half their lives out of sight and that one only sees now and then.

“There’s one thing,” he went on, “that I never thought of while we were trapping, but that I did think of last winter, and it’s puzzled me a whole lot. There are the beavers’ houses built out in deep water and yet there is a passage from under the water up into the house. I don’t understand how that passage is made. Is it possible that the beavers build the house so carefully that a tunnel is left leading from the bottom of the water up into the middle of the house, and then build about a room at the end of that tunnel? That doesn’t seem possible, and if they do, how do they get the first sticks to stop at the bottom of the water. Why don’t the sticks rise up and float away? I’ve been puzzling my head over that for some months now, and have wanted to ask you about it. I thought it would be a long story, and so it would not be worth while writing you about it.”

“Well, I wish you would explain, Hugh,” said Jack, “for I want to understand about this.”

“Well, now,” Hugh went on, “let’s suppose you’ve got a little creek coming down from the mountains where no beaver have ever been, and a couple that have left some colony where they belonged go off and find this little creek, and think it’s a pretty good place to stop. Maybe the creek is shallow, and, if it is, about the first thing they do is to build two or three low dams across it, so as to give them deep water for safety. Then from one of these little ponds where the water is deep, they’ll dig a tunnel off at right angles to the stream, pretty well under the ground, about on a level, and when they get thirty or forty feet from the creek they’ll enlarge it and make a room, and there is where they’ll live for a little while. In the bottom of the tunnel there is water for quite a little way, but when they have dug up and made a room it’s pretty dry there, except for the water that they pack in on their fur. Maybe they’ll stay there for quite a while, but after a little while they dig upward and come out to daylight—on top of the ground in the stream bottom, I mean.

“Well,” said Jack, “that gives me a whole lot of new ideas. I never thought of that way of making the passageways or the rooms. I knew that there must be some way, but what it was I couldn’t tell, though I figured over it a whole lot.”

“Yes,” answered Hugh, “that’s the way they do it. Now, you’ve never seen the inside of a beaver house, but I have told you how the floor is pretty level and not very far above the water, and I’ve told you also that often they have benches all around the room on which they lie when they are in the house. Now, these benches are made in just the same way that the room is made, that is to say, they are gnawed out of the solid sticks that the house is made of. First, perhaps, one old beaver will gnaw out a kind of a hollow in the wall of the room, with a flat level floor just about big enough for her to lie on, and then, perhaps, her mate will gnaw out another place like this, next to her, and perhaps a place will be gnawed out for the young ones, so that all the beaver that live in the house will have benches to rest on, which, I suppose, are drier, or, at all events, more comfortable, than the floor of the house would be.”

“I think I understand, Hugh,” said Jack. “Anybody that has seen a beaver’s teeth, and the work that they do, the trees that they cut down, and knows the short time that it takes them to do this, can understand easily enough how it’s perfectly possible for them to gnaw their way through a lot of small sticks, such as the houses are made of.”

“I’ve told you,” he went on, “about the open canals that the beaver dig to get near where they are gathering their food, so as to get that food to their houses and so as to have refuge in case an enemy should get after them, but I don’t believe I thought to tell you about the underground tunnels that they dig, like those we’ve just been talking about. Of course, after a while, when the water has been raised, these underground tunnels are all covered up. The beaver no longer use them and they are very likely to fall in. Then if you are riding or wading in a beaver pond, you may suddenly step into a ditch that is a foot and a half or two feet deeper than the rest of the pond. Very likely if you are on horseback, the horse will fall down. A beaver pond or a beaver meadow is likely to be full of traps for anyone who goes through it.

Jack had been listening eagerly to this account, and when Hugh stopped speaking, said, “Dear me, Hugh, how much you know about this country and the animals that live in it. I wonder if anyone else knows as much. I made a point this winter of reading two or three books on beaver and trying to find out everything that I could about the animal, but none of these books said one word about what you have been telling me; they just said that the beaver built dams and houses and kept talking about how smart he was, but really they didn’t know anything about the animal. They were just guessing all the time. There wasn’t a word said about how the beaver got into their houses, nor how they made the passage or the rooms. They didn’t explain a bit, and yet, from the way they wrote, you’d suppose they knew it all.”

“Well,” answered Hugh, with a smile, “when they came to a place where they did not understand how the beaver did anything, I suppose they didn’t have anybody to go to and ask, and so they had to just keep on writing and pretending that it was all simple enough to them, even if they didn’t explain how it was to the people that read the books.”

“Well, now,” said Hugh, “ain’t you a little mite hard on these fellows that write books? I expect that they don’t like to say that they don’t know. Of course, a man that don’t know oughtn’t to be telling people about the things he don’t know about.”

“No,” said Jack, “you bet he oughtn’t to, and that’s what I’m kicking about.”

“Well, son, your kicking may give you some satisfaction, but it won’t hurt the men that are writing the books.”

“No,” said Jack, “I guess not, but it’s a fraud all the same.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “it’s about time for us to turn in. Suppose you boys go out and catch two of the riding horses and picket them strongly, and I guess the others will stay with them until morning.”

DAYLIGHT was slow in breaking the next morning, and when the earliest riser came out of the tent he saw that the valley was filled with mist which hid the mountain peaks. It was fairly cold, and all hands were glad to wear their coats.

Hugh kindled the fire and began to get breakfast, while the boys went out and turned loose the picketed horses, finding all the animals together.

“No mosquitoes this morning, Jack,” said Joe, as they walked back to camp.

“No, indeed,” replied Jack. “Any mosquito that came out this morning would be likely to have his wings and beak frozen off. My, but it’s cold!” and he crowded close to the fire, stretching out his stiff wet hands to try to get some warmth into them.

“Yes,” said Hugh, “it’s pretty cold up here in the mountains. Ten miles down the creek, on the prairie, I bet the sun is shining hot.”

“Isn’t it queer what a difference there is between the mountains and the prairie?” said Jack.

“Well,” Hugh went on, “the grub is about ready and we may as well sit down and eat. I believe this fog is going to lift in a while and we can keep on up the valley and see how far we can go before the mountains stop us. By rights, we ought to wait here until the sun comes out and dries off the ropes and blankets, but I don’t believe we’ve got much further to go, not more than six or seven miles anyhow, before we’ll either get to the foot of the mountains or well up on them.”

“Then,” said Jack, “what’s the matter with taking the right-hand one first? What do you think, Joe?”

Joe signified that he was doubtful which to take, and as he, apparently, didn’t care much, Hugh said, “Well, come on then, we’ll see if we can find some sort of a trail through the timber up here to the right.”

A dim trail, which seemed to Jack like a disused game trail, led through the timber and the road was fairly easy. Before they had gone far, both boys could see that people had traveled up it in previous years, for in a number of places the bark was knocked from the trees, where packs had hit against them and, in one or two places, they saw a thread of red or white worsted clinging to a tree in a narrow place in the trail, showing where a rider’s leg had rubbed against the bark and a shred had been torn from his leggings or blanket. Once or twice they saw a tuft of goat hair caught on a branch.

For some hours they wound through the forest, but at length the trees grew smaller and they passed through some open timber into a little park.

The mountains rose high on every side, but there was plenty of grass, a good-sized stream, and abundant wood. At the head of the park, two streams came from narrow valleys, one to the west and one to the east, and immediately before the travelers rose a very sharp mountain slope, terminating in a long high wall or precipice crowned by jagged finger-like rocks.

It was nearly noon before the packs were off and the tent up, and then it was time to cook and eat, so that it was one o’clock before they mounted again and rode off. Hugh followed the westerly branch of the stream and, after a little search, found a game trail which led up the steep bank and brought them to the level of the valley, above the forty-foot precipice over which the stream poured. Here the ground was level and timber-covered, but they soon came out on rolling land which rose steadily toward the mountain and was dotted with clumps of trees.

The stream, which they had been following, came from a beautiful lake of clear, green water, in which two or three harlequin ducks were swimming, among little fragments of ice floating in the water.

The three travelers dismounted and, sitting down beneath a pine tree, looked over the lake and scanned the rocks above it.

Presently Hugh said, “Boys, do you want to see some goats?”

“Yes,” replied Jack, “I’ve been looking for them, but I don’t see any.”

The boys looked, and there, to their astonishment, saw several herds of goats feeding on the young grass that grew on the slopes of the mountains.

“Plenty of goats,” said Joe.

“You bet, they’re plenty,” agreed Jack. “Let’s count them.” They did so and found that there were no less than forty-three goats in sight and none of them at a level higher than they were.

“Quite a show, isn’t it?” said Hugh. “I don’t remember that I ever saw so many goats at one view, as we’re looking at now. It wouldn’t be much of a trick to get goat meat here, if we wanted it.”

“No,” answered Jack, “I should think not, but, as you say, we don’t want it particularly. I’d rather have some sheep or even an elk. I expect there are some elk here, aren’t there? I saw some sign of them, as I thought, coming up.”

“Yes,” said Hugh, “I reckon there are elk here; not very many, but some. Maybe we can get to kill one before long.”

It was pleasant sitting there in the sun and watching the feeding goats, unsuspicious of danger. Suddenly, however, there was a movement in the group nearest the head of the valley and the animals began to walk quickly toward the heights and were soon climbing up over the snowbanks.

“There!” exclaimed Hugh, “I reckon some eddy of wind from us must have crept around and they have smelt us. Just see how they climb.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “that’s nice. That’s the way the old ones always do unless they’re too badly scared. There, you see the little one has caught up, and now the mother goes on again.”

The disturbance among the first group of goats had started the others along the mountainside, and now all were clambering toward the high rocks. The men watched them, until they had passed over the snowbanks and reached the precipice, along which they ran, like flies on a wall, though of course the boys knew that there must be shelves wide enough for them to walk on. Soon, however, the sun sank behind the towering peak to the westward and the air grew chilly, and remounting their horses the travelers returned to camp.

“No mosquitoes to-night, Hugh,” said Jack.

“No,” answered Hugh, “I guess we’re safe.”

“White Bull,” said Joe, as they were sitting before the fire, “have you ever been up here before?”

“Well,” said Joe, “then, of course, you don’t know what there is up this other creek that comes from the east.”

“No, I don’t,” said Hugh. “It can’t be very long, because Kennedy’s Creek must be pretty close to us, on the other side of the mountains.”

“Say, Jack,” said Joe. “Let’s take our guns and go up this creek afoot to-morrow, and see what there is there. We might see some game and, anyhow, we’ll find out where the stream come from. What do you think, White Bull, is it good?”

“Good,” said Hugh, “go on up there and see what you can find. I think maybe I’ll stop around the camp or perhaps climb up to the top of these rocks right in front of us, and see what stream it is that is on the other side. It looks like a pretty straight up and down wall in front of us, but, often, when you get close to a place like that you find that you can climb it.”

“What do you expect to see on the other side, Hugh?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know,” said Hugh, “but I reckon I’ll see more mountains. Those seem to be mostly what grows in this part of the world, but I shouldn’t be much surprised if right on the other side of that wall I saw a narrow valley, through which runs one of the forks of Belly River.”

“Won’t you find lots of snow going up there, Hugh?” said Jack.

“Some, I guess,” was the reply, “but you see this is the south face of the wall and the sun is pretty strong now and hits the rocks up there, so that I reckon most of the snow will be melted.”

It was long after daylight the next morning when Jack and Joe set out, but the mountains on either side of the little valley were so high that the sun had not yet melted the frost on the grass. The first mile of their journey was spent in clambering up a series of moss-covered ledges, very steep, but not at all difficult to climb. Then they found themselves at the bottom of a talus, a sharp slope of rock fragments, that had fallen from the cliffs above, and they followed this around point after point, until the narrow valley of the stream opened before them.

This valley was nearly straight and only three or four miles in length, walled in on the west and north by a vertical precipice, not very high, but terminating in the same jagged rock pinnacles that crowned the wall to the north of the camp, and beyond which Hugh thought he might see the valley of Belly River. There was no timber growing at the foot of this rock wall nor on the steep mountainside that lay to the east, but at one time the actual valley where the stream ran and where grass and underbrush now grew, had supported a growth of large timber. All these trees, however, had been broken off twelve or fifteen feet above the ground and their trunks lay piled one upon another among the growing vegetation like a great heap of giant jack-straws.

“Now, what do you suppose broke off all those trees at just that height, Joe?” asked Jack.

Joe looked for a long time before he answered, and then he said, “Snowslide, I reckon.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “it sure must have come down fast and hit those trees hard, and when it got down here into the valley, it must have just piled up. It couldn’t get out anywhere, for big and swift as it was, it could not knock down this wall.”

All along the mountainside opposite to them were to be seen places where deep and wide grooves had been cut in the soil and, as they looked more closely, they could see the stumps of many trees that had been cut down by the slide.

“Well,” said Jack, “that certainly was a big avalanche.”

“Avalanche,” said Joe, “what’s that?”

“Why,” said Jack, “it’s just another name for snowslide. That’s what they call a snowslide in Switzerland, I believe. A man once wrote a piece of poetry about a fellow that was climbing the mountains in Switzerland, and one of the people that he passed said to him, ‘Beware, the awful avalanche.’ That meant watch out close for snowslides.”

“Well,” said Joe, “I’ve never been much in the mountains and I’ve never seen a snowslide, but I have heard old people talk about them, and from what they say, they are things to be scared of.”

“If we’d been a little earlier, Joe,” said Jack, “we might have got a shot at those fellows.”

“We may do it yet,” replied Joe, “and if we don’t do it to-day, perhaps we can find them to-morrow. Very likely they live right here somewhere, and I don’t believe they’re a bit scary, so that if we look for them carefully we may be able to get a shot.”

They could see where the sheep had come down to the edge of the valley, perhaps to get a bite of green grass, perhaps to drink, though probably not for water, since the melting snow all over the hillsides would have given them many drinking places.

“Ah,” said Jack, “there’s a ptarmigan, and there must be a nest right here.”

Sure enough, a few minutes’ search revealed a nest just in front of Jack. It was a mere hollow scratched in the ground and had no lining, except a few blades of grass, and two or three feathers that had dropped from the bird’s breast. In the nest were six beautiful eggs almost covered with purplish spots, mottlings and cloudings, and so nearly the color of many of the stones that lay on the slope that Jack’s eye had passed over them two or three times without seeing that they were eggs and not stones.

“Oh, aren’t they pretty!” said Jack. “Wouldn’t I like to have them safely back East and a picture of the place where we found them, and of the mother bird.”

By this time the mother had risen from the ground where she lay and had walked back, close to the boys, and, with bristling feathers and angry cluckings, stalked so close to them that they could have touched her with their outstretched hands.

“Certainly, that’s one of the prettiest things I ever saw,” said Jack, “and I’m mighty glad to have seen the eggs because I’ve seen the young ones. Don’t you remember, Joe, the little one that we caught three or four years ago, the first time that you and I ever hunted together on the mountains?”

“Sure,” said Joe, “I remember. That was the time we got the sheep, just before we went off to Grassy Lakes, where you counted your coup on the Assinaboine.”

“You bet,” replied Joe, “and two or three times I’ve been pretty badly scared when I’ve been with you, but we always came out all right.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I’ve been scared, too, but I suppose we didn’t either of us show it.”

“No,” answered Joe, “I suppose we didn’t. I hope not, anyhow. I don’t mind being scared, if I can only keep it to myself, but I don’t like to have people laugh at me.

“Well,” he went on, “let’s go ahead, and leave this old mother to get on her eggs again.”

The boys kept on towards the head of the valley and at last could see that the stream that they had been following had its origin in a tiny, deep, green lake, lying at the very head of the valley and close under the rock wall and the high mountains to the east. When they reached this lake, Jack said, “What do you say, Joe? Shall we cross over and try to get down to camp on the other side of the valley? I don’t know whether we can find good walking there or not, but I guess we can, and I’d like to go over new ground if I could.”

“I say let’s try it,” replied Joe. “If we find we can’t get down that way, we can come back and go home the way we came.”