256 



CRUISINGS IN THE CASCADES. 



He ate his supper alone and in sadness, and as the 

 camp fire blazed in front of his tent it cast fitful 

 shadows into the gloom, which was unbroken by 

 any sound save the occasional soughing of the wind 

 through the pine trees or the cry of some wild ani- 

 mal. He finally retired to rest, but his sleep was 

 broken by troubled dreams As the sun arose he 

 prepared a hasty meal, which was eaten in silence, 

 and with a pair of blankets, a few pounds of flour, 

 salt, and coffee, and his rifle, he started, leaving his 

 tent standing and all else in it as a monument to the 

 memory of his friend and a landmark to future 

 hunters and mountaineers to locate the scene of his 

 great misfortune. He traveled seven days before 

 seeing the face of a human being or sleeping under 

 a shelter of any kind, when he finally reached a 

 ranch where his horses had preceded him and had 

 been corraled to await an owner. 



It is fortunate that all goat hunters do not meet 

 with such disasters as did poor Westlake and his 

 young friend, or the noble sport would have still 

 fewer votaries than it now has. 



