ON WILD LIFE TRAILS 115 



The approaching presence of the solemn, slow- 

 going skunk was too much and the grizzly just 

 could not help playing the clown. He threw a 

 somersault; he rolled over. Then, like a young 

 puppy, he sat on an awkwardly held body to 

 watch the skunk pass. He pivoted his head to 

 follow this unhastening fellow who was as dead 

 to humour as the log by the trail. 



Along the trail friend meets friend, foe meets 

 enemy, stranger meets stranger, they linger, 

 strangers not again. The meetings may be cli- 

 maxes, produce clashes, or friendly contact; 

 and in the passing high-brows and common folks 

 rub elbows. To meet or not to meet ever is the 

 question with them. 



One old trail which I many times watched was 

 on a ridge between two deep canons. At the 

 west the ridge expanded into the Continental 

 Divide and the trail divided into dimmer foot- 

 ways. The east end terraced and the trail 

 divided. Stretches of the trail were pine shad- 

 owed, spaces were in sunlight. 



Where the trail went over a summit among the 

 scattered trees travellers commonly paused for 

 a peep ahead. Often, too, they waited and con- 

 gested, trampling a wide stretch bare and often 

 to dust. On this summit were scoutings, linger- 

 ings, and fighting. Lowlanders and highlanders, 

 singly, in pairs and in strings, stamped the dust 



