136 The Wilderness Hunter 



forming what is called a park country. The higher 

 we went the smaller grew the glades and the denser 

 the woodland; and it began to be very difficult to 

 get the wagon forward. In many places one man 

 had to go ahead to pick out the way and if neces- 

 sary do a little chopping and lopping with the axe, 

 while the other followed driving the team. At last 

 we were brought to a standstill, and pitched camp 

 beside a rapid, alder-choked brook in the uppermost 

 of a series of rolling glades, hemmed in by moun- 

 tains and the dense coniferous forest. Our tent 

 stood under a grove of pines, close to the brook; 

 at night we built in front of it a big fire of crackling, 

 resinous logs. Our goods were sheltered by the 

 wagon, or covered with a tarpaulin ; we threw down 

 sprays of odorous evergreens to make a resting- 

 place for our bedding; we built small scaffolds on 

 which to dry the flesh of elk and deer. In an hour 

 or two we had round us all the many real comforts 

 of such a little wilderness home. 



Whoever has long roamed and hunted in the wil- 

 derness always cherishes with wistful pleasure the 

 memory of some among the countless camps he has 

 made. The camp by the margin of the clear, moun- 

 tain-hemmed lake; the camp in the dark and mel- 

 ancholy forest, where the gusty wind booms through 

 the tall pine tops; the camp under gnarled cotton- 

 woods, on the bank of a shrunken river, in the 

 midst of endless grassy prairies, of these, and 



