OF SHOOTING AND FISHING 149 
customed to the wilds would never have suspected 
that, by going up here, a valley running at right 
angles to the main one would be reached. There 
was the usual stream, but it was so hidden by alders 
and brush as to escape notice. Travel was ex- 
ceedingly difficult—pushing through dense brush 
with a pack train always is. The valley we entered 
was bounded by high rocky mountains on both sides, 
and from the appearance of the place, we might 
have been the first people to have entered it. A 
very occasional freshly cut branch showed that our 
man had passed this way, but he did not pave it to 
any extent. 
In the afternoon we reached a little grassy place 
at the foot of an immense amphitheatre of rock and 
by the creek. We had not rested for lunch but had 
pushed on, so were glad to reach our journey’s 
end. This was not such an attractive camp as the 
previous one, there being only willows, alders, and 
scrub immediately around the tents, with the bleak 
rocky background. The dense forest, however, was 
not far off across the stream. Just before reaching 
camp, and in an exceedingly dense place, I noticed 
a pile of logs about the size of railway sleepers; 
they were moss grown and perfectly rotten. One 
expected to find a skeleton some place, or something 
indicating the whereabouts of buried treasure. We 
refreshed ourselves and bathed our scratches by 
the stream while the tents were going up, and we 
scanned the cliffs for game. In one place we 
thought we could make out with glasses a white 
weather-beaten log lying on a ledge, and what 
