296 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



see a small gray form, about seven inches long over all, 

 but quite tailless, gently slip into daylight atop of a chunk 

 of slide-rock which affords a level resting place. If it 

 has a large round ear, with a white rim, it is Pika, the 

 haymaker of the slide-rock. In September, and I know 

 not how many other months, he hops out to the edge of 

 the slide-rock where things grow, cuts a big mouthful of 

 weedy plants a foot long, carries them to the mouth of 

 his den, and lays them down atop of a flat rock, to cure. 

 He brings more, and more, until he has amassed a pile 

 three inches high. All the stems are laid the same way, 

 neatly and systematically, and they are to lie there until 

 they dry sufficiently that when finally taken into the den 

 and stowed away they will not mould. If a rock cuts off 

 from the hay-pile the rays of the descending sun, the Pika 

 will promptly move his hay into the direct sunshine. 



On the day that Mr. Phillips and I first climbed to 

 the top of Goat Pass, we found in the stunted timber on 

 the steepest part of the mountain-side, three little piles 

 of Pika-food, lying across the top of a fallen log, curing 

 in the sun. 



While we were measuring, skinning and weighing 

 my first mountain goat, a Pika squeaked to us many times. 

 At last it came out of the slide-rock about a hundred feet 

 below us, and sat on a flat-topped stone viewing the 

 world. We watched him with our glasses as long as our 

 time would permit, then I went down to take a look at 

 his ranch. As I approached, he turned about, and 

 vanished. 



On a flat-topped stone, with table area about the size 



