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 cafions. 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 
