SOrMER DAYS AT MOI'XT SIL\STA 



slumbering volcano of ancient wildness, all 

 that has been done by church and school 

 through centuries of cultivation is for the mo- 

 ment destroyed, and the decent gentleman or 

 devout saint becomes a howling, bloodthirsty, 

 demented savage. It is not long since we all 

 were cave-men and followed game for food as 

 truly as wildcat or wolf, and the long repression 

 of ci\ilization seems to make the reboimd to 

 savage love of blood all the more violent. This 

 frenzj-, fortimately. does not last long in its 

 most exaggerated form, and after a season of 

 wildness refined gentlemen from cities are not 

 more cruel than hunters and trappers who kill 

 for a h\'ing. 



Dwelling apart in the depths of the woods 

 are the various kinds of moimtaineers. — himt- 

 ers, prospectors, and the like, — rare men, 

 "queer characters," and well worth knowing. 

 Their cabins are located with reference to game 

 and the ledges to be examined, and are con- 

 structed almost as simply as those of the wood 

 rats made of sticks laid across each other with- 

 out compass or square. But they afford good 

 shelter from storms, and so are "square" with 

 the need of their builders. These men as a class 

 are singularly fine in manners, though their 

 faces may be scarred and rough like the bark 

 of trees. On entering their cabins you will 



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