&J)h 



Krag, the Kootenay Ram 



ridges levelled. Still it came down, not drifting, 

 but piling up, heavy, soft, adhesive — all day 

 long, deeper, heavier, rounder. As night came 

 on, the Chinook blew yet harder. It skipped 

 from peak to peak like a living thing— no puff 

 of air, but a living thing, as Greek and Indian 

 both alike have taught, a being who creates, 

 then loves and guards its own. It came like a 

 mighty goddess, like an angry angel with a 

 bugle-horn, with a dreadful message from the 

 far-off western sea — a message of war ; for it 

 sang a wild, triumphant battle-song, and the 

 strain of the song was : 



I am the mothering White Wind ; 



This is my hour of might. 

 The hills and the snow are my children ; 



My service they do to-night. 



And here and there, at the word received, 

 there were mighty doings among the peaks. 

 Here new effects were carven with a stroke ; 

 here lakes were made or unmade ; here mes- 

 sengers of life and death despatched. An 

 avalanche from Purcell's Peak went down to 

 gash the sides and show long veins of gold; 



102 





