A BED OF BOUGHS 165 



a red steer stepped out of the bushes into the road 

 ahead of us, where the sunshine fell full upon him, 

 and, with a half-scared, beautiful look, begged alms 

 of salt. We passed the Haunted Shanty ; but both 

 it and the legend about it looked very tame at ten 

 o'clock in the morning. After the road had faded 

 out, we took to the bed of the stream to avoid the 

 gauntlet of the underbrush, skipping up the moun- 

 tain from bowlder to bowlder. Up and up we went, 

 with frequent pauses and copious quaffing of the 

 cold water. My soldier declared a "haunted val- 

 ley" would be a godsend; anything but endless 

 dragging of one's self up such an Alpine stairway. 

 The winter wren, common all through the woods, 

 peeped and scolded at us as we sat blowing near the 

 summit, and the oven-bird, not quite sure as to 

 what manner of creatures we were, hopped down a 

 limb to within a few feet of us and had a good look, 

 then darted off into the woods to tell the news. I 

 also noted the Canada warbler, the chestnut-sided 

 warbler, and the black-throated blue-back, the 

 latter most abundant of all. Up these mountain 

 brooks, too, goes the belted kingfisher, swooping 

 around through the woods when he spies the fisher- 

 man, then wheeling into the open space of the stream 

 and literally making a "blue streak" down under 

 the branches. 



At last the stream which had been our guide was 

 lost under the rocks, and before long the top was 

 gained. These mountains are horse-shaped. There 

 is always a broad, smooth back, more or less de- 



