MY GRIZZLY-BEAR DAY 161 



from that point up to our old camp on Goat Pass, but 

 was happily disappointed. Thanks to the good engineer- 

 ing of some Indian trail-maker, the trail led from the 

 head of the basin, on an easy gradient, up through the 

 green timber of the mountain side, quite to our old camp. 



We found fresh grizzly-bear tracks within fifty feet 

 of the ashes of our camp-fire; but our goat-skins in the 

 big spruce, and our cache of provisions near it, had not 

 been touched. It was here that we saw a solitary goat 

 feeding on the precipitous slope beneath the glacier on 

 Phillips Peak, as noted elsewhere. And here we were 

 reminded of Mr. Phillips's uneasiness about the dead 

 trees that stood near our tents, and which he had feared 

 might blow down upon us. A large dead tree had fallen 

 upon our camp-ground, squarely across the green bed of 

 spruce boughs on which Charlie and Mack Norboe had 

 slept four nights\ Had it fallen upon them as they 

 slept, both would have been instantly killed. 



With only a few minutes delay, we mounted once 

 more and rode on northward toward the scene of the 

 first goat-kill. As we rode up the ridge of Bald Moun- 

 tain, a biting cold wind, blowing sixty miles an hour, 

 struck us with its full force. It went through our cloth- 

 ing like cold water, and penetrated to the marrow in our 

 bones. At one point it seemed determined to blow the 

 hair off Kaiser's back. While struggling to hold myself 

 together, I saw the dog suddenly whirl head on to the 

 fierce blast, crouch low, and fiercely grip the turf with 

 his claws, to keep from being blown away. It was all 

 that our horses could do to hold a straight course, and 



