A MYSTERIOUS WHISTLEK. 323 



tion grew the Douglas pine and ponderous cedar 

 (Thuja gigantea). Here the ascent was easy 

 enough, but on reaching a greater altitude, the 

 climbing became anything but a joke. 



We at last reached a level plateau near the 

 summit, and lay down on the soft mossy grass, 

 near a stream that came trickling down from the 

 melting snow. 



Close to my couch was a talus of broken 

 granite, that Old Time and the Frost King between 

 them had crumbled away from a mass of rocks 

 above. As I contemplated this heap of rocks, a 

 cry like a plaintive whistle suddenly attracted 

 my attention ; it evidently came from amongst 

 the stones. I listened and kept quiet. Again 

 and again came the whistle, but nowhere could 

 I see the whistler. A slight movement at length 

 betrayed him, and I could clearly make out a 

 little animal sitting bolt upright, like a begging- 

 dog, his seat a flat stone in the middle of the heap. 



I had a load of small-shot in one barrel, in- 

 tended for ptarmigan ; raising my gun slowly 

 and cautiously to my shoulder, I fired as I lay on 

 the ground. The sharp ringing crack as I touched 

 the trigger the first, perhaps, that had ever 

 awoke the echoes of the mountain was the 

 death-knell of the poor little musician. 



T 2 



