HUNTING IN THE SELKIRKS. 165 



Our last camp, whereat we spent several days, 

 was pitched in a deep valley nearly at the 

 head of the stream. Our brush shelter stood 

 among the tall coniferous trees that covered 

 the valley bottom ; but the altitude was so 

 great that the forest extended only a very 

 short distance up the steep mountain slopes. 

 Beyond, on either hand, rose walls of gray 

 rock, with snow beds in their rifts, and, high 

 above, toward the snow peaks, the great white 

 fields dazzled the eyes. The torrent foamed 

 swiftly by but a short distance below the 

 mossy level space on which we had built our 

 slight weather-shield of pine boughs ; other 

 streams poured into it, from ravines through 

 which they leaped down the mountain sides. 



After nightfall, round the camp fire, or if I 

 awakened after sleeping a little while, I would 

 often lie silently for many minutes together, 

 listening to the noises of the wilderness. At 

 times the wind moaned harshly through the 

 tops of the tall pines and hemlocks ; at times 

 the branches were still ; but the splashing 

 murmur of the torrent never ceased, and 

 through it came other sounds the clatter of 

 huge rocks falling down the cliffs, the dashing 

 of cataracts in far-off ravines, the hooting of 

 owls. Again, the breeze would shift, and 

 bring to my ears the ringing of other brooks 

 and cataracts and wind-stirred forests, and 

 perhaps at long intervals the cry of some wild 

 beast, the crash of a falling tree, or the faint 

 rumble of a snow avalanche. If I listened 

 long enough, it would almost seem that I 

 heard thunderous voices laughing and calling 

 to one another, and as if at any moment some 



