282 THE WILDERNESS OF THE UPPER YUKON 



he had arrived to reconstruct the set-gun, he found that 

 the bear had already discharged it and killed herself. 



September 17. The last three frosty nights and the 

 cold winds had done their cruel work and killed the 

 foliage. Snow covered the slopes, the willow leaves near 

 the river were brown, the golden glow of the poplars had 

 gone, and the leaves were falling fast. From a landscape 

 of brilliant color to one of brown and gray the transition 

 had been abrupt. 



We were again gliding down the Pelly under an over- 

 cast sky, in a raw, cold wind, bringing at intervals flurries 

 of rain. Twenty-five miles below we passed a large creek 

 coming from the north. I had seen it flowing through a 

 fine valley north of Rose Mountain. It had not been 

 named, so I called it Rose Creek. 



As the afternoon hours pass by when one is sitting 

 in the bow of a canoe, silently paddling, with rifle ready 

 by his side, a deep fascination is added to the charm of 

 gliding down those parts of the rivers where game is 

 abundant. At any moment, a moose that monarch of 

 the northern forest may appear on the bars; a bear may 

 be seen swimming or moving among the willows; a lynx 

 may be observed sitting on the bank; a fox playing on 

 the shore, or a wolf skulking in the shadows. On the 

 tangents, the eyes are continually strained to detect an 

 animal far ahead, and when going around the curves the 

 eagerness becomes intense. Later, as the sun goes low, 

 the aspect of every inanimate thing changes, and from a 

 distance many objects so resemble an animal as to impel 

 the eyes to a close scrutiny. 



