The Mountaineer 93 



instead of rain making a glcx)my day, the spirits of good 

 Mountaineers seemed quite stimulated. With an 

 amateur phrenologist, a palmist, a whist party, and a 

 masquerade, the two days passed rapidly. 



The rainy time would not be complete without the 

 mention of the only incident even approaching a tragedy, 

 on the whole trip. The setting for this tragedy must be a 

 gloomy scene. Let the orchestra play pianissamo. Picture a 

 background of dark trees, a tiny white tent in the fore- 

 ground, dark clouds overhead, and — silence. Suddenly 

 the startled scream of a woman burst upon the air. 

 "Wild cat ! Wild cat ! Carr ! Carr !" Again and again 

 came the cry of anguish. For a terror-stricken moment 

 all were dumb. Then from headquarters Mr. Secretary 

 was ordered to unpack his gun from his dunnage bag, 

 his cartridges from another, and carry them to Mr. 

 Crack Shot. The latter was to pursue the marauder. 



But Mr. Crack Shot was not impressed with the dan- 

 ger, and in time the camp calmly went to sleep again. 



I suspect a certain old father squirrel on these win- 

 ter evenings, gathers his little ones around his knees and 

 proudly tells the story of that summer evening, when 

 he was mistaken for a wild cat. 



A certain little lady still hears of the time when she 

 forgot her husband's name in her terror, and called 

 upon the cook to protect her. 



Rainy days passed and the sun came out, and a 

 cloudless sky promised a fair tomorrow. All prepara- 

 tions were made for the great ascent, and, while all 

 arrangements were as perfect as humanly possible, a 

 clear night was followed by a cloudy morning. Though 

 the company reached an altitude of 8,500 feet, they 

 could not go further on account of the inclemency of 

 the weather. 



Time was taken for a side trip to Park Creek 

 Glacier, where we could catch glimpses of the old 

 Mazama Camp, Coleman Peak and Mazama Dome. 



