The Cassiar Trail 



carrying puppies on top of their heavy loads of dried 

 salmon, while the grown dogs had saddle-bags filled 

 with odds and ends strapped on their backs. Small 

 puppies, unable to carry more than five or six pounds, 

 were thus made useful. I overtook another band go- 

 ing south, heavy laden with furs and skins to trade. 

 An old woman, with short dress and leggings, was 

 carrying a big load of furs and skins, on top of which 

 was perched a little girl about three years old. 



A brown, speckled marmot, one of Le Claire's 

 friends, was getting ready for winter. The entrance 

 to his burrow was a little to one side of the cabin door. 

 A well-worn trail led to it through the grass and 

 another to that of his companion, fifty feet away. He 

 was a most amusing pet, always on hand at meal 

 times for bread-crumbs and bits of bacon-rind, came 

 when called, answering in a shrill whistle, moving like 

 a squirrel with quick, nervous impulses, jerking his 

 short flat tail. His fur clothing was neat and clean, 

 fairly shining in the wintry light. The snowy weather 

 that morning must have called winter to mind; for as 

 soon as he got his breakfast, he ran to a tuft of dry 

 grass, chewed it into fuzzy mouthfuls, and carried it 

 to his nest, coming and going with admirable in- 

 dustry, forecast, and confidence. None watching him 

 as we did could fail to sympathize with him; and I 

 fancy that in practical weather wisdom no govern- 

 ment forecaster with all his advantages surpasses this 

 little Alaska rodent, every hair and nerve a weather 

 instrument. 



I greatly enjoyed this little inland side trip the 



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