STEEP TRAILS 



calm afterglow that usually succeeds the first 

 storm of the winter. I met many of the birds 

 that had reared their young and spent their 

 sununer in the Shasta woods and chaparral. 

 They were then on their way south to their 

 winter homes, leading their young full-fledged 

 and about as large and strong as the parents. 

 Squirrels, dry and elastic after the storms, were 

 busy about their stores of pine nuts, and the 

 latest goldenrods were still in bloom, though it 

 was now past the middle of October. The grand 

 color glow — the autunmal jubilee of ripe 

 leaves — was past prime, but, freshened by 

 the rain, was still making a fine show along the 

 banks of the river and in the ravines and the 

 dells of the smaller streams. 



At the salmon-hatching establishment on 

 the McCloud River I halted a week to examine 

 the limestone belt, grandly developed there, 

 to learn what I could of the inhabitants of the 

 river and its banks, and to give time for the 

 fresh snow that I knew had fallen on the 

 mountain to settle somewhat, with a view to 

 making the ascent. A pedestrian on these 

 mountain roads, especially so late in the year, 

 is sure to excite curiosity, and many were the 

 interrogations concerning my ramble. When 

 I said that I was simply taking a walk, and 

 that icy Shasta was my mark, I was invariably 



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