BIRCH BROWSINGS 183 



We lodged that night on a brush-heap and slept 

 soundly. The green, yielding beech-twigs, covered 

 with a buffalo robe, were equal to a hair mattress. 

 The heat and smoke from a large fire kindled in the 

 afternoon had banished every "no-see-em" from 

 the locality, and in the morning the sun was above 

 the mountain before we awoke. 



I immediately started again for the inlet, and 

 went far up the stream toward its source. A fair 

 string of trout for breakfast was my reward. The 

 cattle with the bell were at the head of the valley, 

 where they had passed the night. Most of them 

 were two-year-old steers. They came up to me and 

 begged for salt, and scared the fish by their impor- 

 tunities. 



We finished our bread that morning, and ate 

 every fish we could catch, and about ten o'clock 

 prepared to leave the lake. The weather had been 

 admirable, and the lake was a gem, and I would 

 gladly have spent a week in the neighborhood; but 

 the question of supplies was a serious one, and 

 would brook no delay. 



When we reached, on our return, the point where 

 we had crossed the line of marked trees the day 

 before, the question arose whether we should still 

 trust ourselves to this line, or follow our own trail 

 back to the spring and the battlement of rocks on 

 the top of the mountain, and thence to the rock 

 where the guide had left us. We decided in favor 

 of the former course. After a march of three 

 quarters of an hour the blazed trees ceased, and we 



