THREE-ARCH ROCKS 15 



in sight, and bearing down upon us, dropped 

 anchor within rifle-range of the lion-herds, the 

 men on board ready with their guns for an 

 hour's sport! 



"Thou hast put all things under his feet"; 

 and the feet have overrun and trampled down all 

 the things except in a few scattered spots where 

 the trespass sign and the warden are keeping them 

 off. I followed these feet over the last-left miles of 

 wild Canadian prairie, over a road so new that I 

 could see where it crossed the faint, grass-grown 

 trails of the buffalo. I followed the feet over the 

 Coast Range mountains, through the last-remain- 

 ing miles of first-growth timber, where the giant 

 boles, felled for the road, lay untrimmed and 

 still green beside the way — a straight, steel- 

 bordered way, for swift, steel-shod feet that shake 

 the mountain and the prairie in their passing, 

 and leave behind them, down the trail, the bones 

 of herds and forests, the ripped sod, the barbed 

 wire, the shacks that curse the whole horizon, 

 the heaps of gutted tins, and rags, and scrap — 

 unburied offal, flung from the shanty doors with 

 rose-slip and grain of wheat, to blossom later in 

 the wilderness and make it to rejoice. 



