AMONGST THE WILD GOATS OF THE CASCADES. 279 



was now the owner of a steam tug-boat, six hundred 

 and forty acres of land, and a trading store, chiefly for 

 Indians, on one of the large islands, a schooner, a 

 small fortune, and a happy family. The prime of 

 life was still before him. 



The strong north-west wind which was blowing had 

 prevented our casting off as I had intended when two- 

 thirds of the way across the straits, but had left me 

 no excuse for not visiting the mines. The breeze 

 continued to blow briskly, without signs of drop- 

 ping, when I started in the canoe with the two 

 Indians for the long journey to Bute Inlet. I had 

 selected this inlet because the scenery was said to 

 be as grand as any on the coast, and the wild goats 

 numerous. 



We hugged the steep rocky shore of Texada closely, 

 keeping under the shelter of each projecting headland. 

 The rocks were bright with coloured sea weed and 

 thick clusters of starfish, some purple and others 

 yellow; great sea slugs could be seen through the 

 clear water on the variegated bottom, and occasionally, 

 among the ulvse, a great dark- coloured rock-cod, not 

 even troubling to move as the canoe passed over him. 

 So large and strong was the canoe, that one might feel 

 perfectly safe in it in moderate weather ; and a fine 

 specimen, too, of Indian work, carved, by burning 

 and cutting, out of a single tree trunk of cedar, not 

 Douglas fir, both species growing to upwards of 300 

 feet in height and proportionate thickness. Including 

 the projecting bow and stern pieces, which were sepa- 



