96 ***** "Oh, Ranger!" 



climb Takhoma [one of the Indian names for Mount Rainier] is all 

 foolishness. No one can do it and live. A mighty chief dwells upon 

 the summit in a lake of fire. He brooks no intruders. Many years ago 

 my grandfather, the greatest and bravest chief of all the Yakima, 

 climbed nearly to the summit. There he caught sight of the fiery lake 

 and the infernal demon coming to destroy him and he fled down the 

 mountain, glad to escape with his life. Where he failed, no other Indian 

 ever dared make the attempt. At first the way is easy, the task seems 

 light. The broad snow fields, over which I have often hunted the moun 

 tain goat, offer an inviting path. But above them you will have to climb 

 over steep rocks overhanging deep gorges, where a misstep would hurl 

 you far down, down to certain death. You must creep over steep snow 

 banks and cross deep crevasses where a mountain goat could hardly 

 keep his footing. You must climb along steep cliffs where rocks are 

 continually falling to crush you or knock you off into the bottomless 

 depths. And if you should escape these perils and reach the great snowy 

 dome, there a bitterly cold and furious tempest will sweep you off into 

 space like a withered leaf. But if by some miracle you should survive 

 all these perils, the mighty demon of Takhoma will surely kill you and 

 throw you into the fiery lake/' 



The impassioned warning of Sluiskin of the Yakima is expressive 

 of the Indian's reverence for the wonders that are now the national 

 parks. The Indian lived daily in the shadow, not only of the mountains, 

 the cliffs, and the waterfalls, but of death. He lived as a wild thing 

 lived, by the caprices of Nature. Life was to him fickle, hazardous, 

 difficult. Little wonder that he resisted, albeit futilely, the invasions 

 of the white pioneers into his hunting grounds. 

 Natural it was that he fled for a last refuge to the 

 lands of his gods. No picture of the national 

 parks is complete without the story of the Indians 

 that lived in them. Elsewhere, the white men 

 have changed the Indian and his manner of life. 

 In these few spots, where the devastation of civi 

 lization is held in check, it is fitting that the red 

 man, too, should be found still living as a child in 

 the arms of Nature. 



