94 The National Geographic Magazine 



now, outside of our little band at the 

 lake, probably no white man was nearer 

 than twenty miles in any direction. 

 Here I looked down into a desolate val- 

 ley 2,500 feet below, where a muddy 

 stream coming from a high peak north 

 enters the Palliser River. I recognized 

 the location of our first camp in the 

 Palliser, where, in the maze of burned 

 timber and side trails of an Indian 

 camp, we had overlooked the Kana- 

 naskis Pass. After ten minutes on the 

 summit, I commenced a rapid return, 

 running and walking to the first lake. 

 The clouds had lifted on the high 

 mountains to the north, revealing a 

 very large glacier. In the golden light 

 of evening, for the sun was breaking 

 through the storm, the lake resembled 

 a great mirror, and the clouds were 

 rolling over the cliffs and assuming fan- 

 tastic forms. Even in my haste to 

 gather up the various articles left here, 

 I appreciated that rarely or never had 

 I looked upon a more beautiful scene. 

 I named this Lawson Lake. 



It required an hour to reach Wood 

 and the saddle horses. We started at 

 5.15, and made a desperate effort to 

 reach camp before nightfall. Running 

 our horses wherever possible, and they 

 were more than willing to return, we 

 reached camp in three hours, just as 

 night appeared. Two Stony Indians 

 were standing by our camp fire as we 

 approached. 



Bryant said he had spent an interest- 

 ing day, and while fishing in the lower 

 lake had seen a long file of Indians 

 coming down the north shore. They 

 shouted, "Come here." Feeling cer- 

 tain that they were Stonies, a very 

 friendly tribe, he visited them without 

 fear. The canvas canoe, his silk fish- 

 ing lines, and wonderful display of arti- 

 ficial flies excited their utmost surprise 

 and admiration. An old man conversed 

 with Bryant through one of the young 

 bucks as interpreter. The latter receive 

 a good education at the schools on the 



reserve at Morley. Some of the con- 

 versation was as follows : 



' ' Where you come from ? " " Banff. ' ' 

 ' ' How many in your party ? " " Five. ' ' 

 "You catch many fish?" "A few." 

 ' ' Old man says this is Stony Lake. No 

 like it white man catch fish here." To 

 this Br3 T ant replied that he would catch 

 as many as he wanted to eat. 



" You shoot goat ? " "No." "You 

 shoot sheep?" "No." "You shoot 

 elk?" "No." "Bear?" "No." 

 ' ' What you shoot ? " " Nothing. We 

 came here to see the country. ' ' At this 

 there was a shout of derisive laughter 

 and loud talking for a long time. Later 

 three of the Indians came up to our 

 camp and had dinner, but Ben Wood- 

 worth said it was almost impossible to 

 fill them up, and that there would have 

 been nothing for us if he had given 

 them all they wanted. 



The Indians told us that the pass 

 visited that day was the Kananaskis, 

 and that it was two ' ' sleeps ' ' to the 

 Kootenai, bj^ which they mean the 

 Palliser River or any stream on the 

 other side of the divide. The Stonies, 

 so far as I have been able to find out, 

 have no local names for anything except 

 the great passes, and these names they^ 

 have adopted more or less from the 

 white man. That we had covered the 

 equivalent of three daj's' travel in eleven 

 hours shows how rapidly we had trav- 

 eled. 



I tried to get some information from 

 the most intelligent of the 3'oung bucks, 

 but without much success. They said 

 there was a lake a mile or two long in 

 the next valley to the south, the head 

 of the Elk, which we had not visited. 

 They knew of the high pass which we 

 had crossed on August 12, and expressed 

 the greatest surprise that we had gotten 

 our horses over it. The Indians were 

 disgusted that w T e had shot no game, 

 and that we were at the ' ' Stony Lake. ' ' 

 This term they apply only to the long 

 lower lake, which is full of fish, and 



