SUMMER DAYS AT MOUNT SHASTA 



During my stay at the Government fish- 

 hatching station on the McCloud I was accom- 

 panied in my walks along the river-bank by a 

 McCloud boy about ten years of age, a bright, 

 inquisitive fellow, who gave me the Indian 

 names of the birds and plants that we met. 

 The water-ousel he knew well and he seemed 

 to like the sweet singer, which he called "Sus- 

 sinny." He showed me how strips of the stems 

 of the beautiful maidenhair fern were used to 

 adorn baskets with handsome brown bands, 

 and pointed out several plants good to eat, 

 particularly the large saxifrage growing abun- 

 dantly along the river-margin. Once I rushed 

 suddenly upon him to see if he would be fright- 

 ened; but he unflinchingly held his ground, 

 struck a grand heroic attitude, and shouted, 

 "Me no 'fraid; me Modoc!" 



Mount Shasta, so far as I have seen, has 

 never been the home of Indians, not even their 

 hunting-ground to any great extent, above the 

 lower slopes of the base. They are said to be 

 afraid of fire-mountains and geyser-basins as 

 being the dwelling-places of dangerously power- 

 ful and unmanageable gods. However, it is 

 food and their relations to other tribes that 

 mainly control the movements of Indians; and 

 here their food was mostly on the lower slopes, 

 with nothing except the wild sheep to tempt 



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