2;o 



RECREATION. 



Head pass. Again we are at a great water- 

 shed. The stream that we see thousands of 

 feet below us is the infant Athabasca, 

 which, flowing hundreds of miles through 

 the wilds of Canada, enters Great Slave 

 lake, and flows thence through the Mac- 

 kenzie into the Arctic ocean. 



Following back on the Saskatchewan, we 

 reach the unnamed fork and turn up the 

 valley to the right. The rise is gentle, but 

 steady. After a few miles we are above 

 timber line, and the aspect is rugged and 

 grand in the extreme. We follow up the 

 little stream a few miles farther, to where 

 it heads in a round, cool pool, like the im- 

 print of a giant staff. Great boulders and 

 jagged rocks lie about it in confused 

 masses. Taking a few steps farther and a 

 turn to the right around a projecting ledge 

 of rock, we find ourselves on the edge of a 

 precipice falling off several hundred feet. 

 In front of us the great valley of the Bra- 

 zeau stretches 50 miles. The river itself 

 heads a few miles to our right in a desolate 

 valley among the glaciers. All about us we 

 see the prints of mountain sheep, Ovis Mon- 

 tana, the king of mountain game. These 

 are the places where they have dwelt for 

 years, far from the haunts of man and un- 

 disturbed by the crack of the rifle or the 

 noise of the advancing pack train. On one 

 of the neighboring mountains we can count 

 41 of the agile creatures. A single one is 

 not too difficult to shoot, as he may be 

 caught off his guard ; but when in bunches 

 it is most difficult to get within range, for 

 each creature has an eye like a telescope, 

 and when a dozen are on watch it is a 

 wary hunter indeed who can steel a march 

 on this wily game. 



At first sight it seems as if we can get no 

 farther, but our guide knows an old sheep 

 trail, over which we can get our pack 

 horses. It is steep and rough, but the little 

 pack animals are sure footed. In an hour 

 or 2 we are over the pass between the Sas- 

 katchewan and the Brazeau and are travel- 

 ing down the valley of the latter. Owing 

 to the high water in all the streams we 

 have passed, our horses have been taken 

 out of their depths again and again since 

 we started, and we are desperately short of 

 provisions. Our sugar is gone, our bacon 

 well nigh exhausted, salt running short, 

 and we are on rations of flour. We have 

 killed quite a bit of game, and are depend- 

 ing largely on smoked mutton for our daily 

 food. We hold a counsel of war, and it is 

 resolved that we push on down the valley 

 of the Brazeau at full speed and strike the 

 Edmonton branch of the C. P. R. some 200 

 miles East. Our guide knows the country 

 the last 100 miles, but the country between 

 is new to us all. In fact, no white man has 

 ever followed this vallev even as far as we 



are; or, if he has, he has never mentioned 

 it. 



As we look Eastward, we see a great 

 range of mountains crossing the mouth of 

 our valley at right angles. This is the last 

 range of the mountains. We push on fast.. 

 The country grows less wild and barren 

 and much more picturesque. We are rap- 

 idly leaving the main range of snowcaps 

 behind us. After so many days beneath 

 the great, stern crags and roaring glaciers 

 it is a relief to get into a peaceful valley 

 full of green meadows and groves of young 

 timber. There is a fairly well beaten game 

 trail and one that the Indians have evi- 

 dently frequented of late, for we see their 

 tepee poles and, old camp sites in many 

 places; but as we advance the trail be- 

 comes more difficult, and at last leaves us 

 high and dry in a dense strip of timber, 

 through which a little stream bubbles. There 

 we camp to reconnoitre and hold counsel. 



In the afternoon all turn out to hunt for 

 the lost trail and to explore the country. 

 It is far into the evening when we gather 

 about our roaring camp fire to compare 

 notes. The country ahead of us, we have 

 found, is one vast tangle of fallen timber. 

 The river which we have been following 

 falls into a great canyon a few miles below 

 our camp. To go ahead means weeks of 

 hard work, chopping a path, and it is a ques- 

 tion then if we can fight our way out of 

 the valley. Our provisions can last but a 

 few weeks, even on meager rations. We 

 have reached our high water mark and 

 must turn back and strike for the railroad 

 the way we came. 



The remaining weeks we are in the sad- 

 'dle early and late, pushing- back over our 

 old trail as fast as our horses can travel. 

 Much as we regret to leave the grand old 

 mountains that have stood guard over our 

 many camps all these weeks, it is not with- 

 out a thrill of pleasure that we approach 

 civilization once more. At last we see the 

 gap where the C. P. R. goes into the Kick- 

 ing Horse pass. In a few hours more we 

 see the railroad track itself, and soon are 

 riding along close to the right of way. A 

 mile away we can see the tank and the 

 railroad station, and a painted sign tells us 

 it is to 



Laggan 

 One Mile. 



Our hearts beat faster as we think of 

 seeing our fellows once more. At this 

 moment we look back, and there, beating 



