THE SHADOW OF THE WITCH CROWN 



AFTER MOUNTAIN GOATS AND BIG HORN 

 SHEEP IN BRITISH COLUMBIA 



By L. F. BROWN 



F T E R months of 

 waiting and longing, 

 we had met to start 

 on a hunting trip in- 

 to British Columbia. 

 Standing on t h e 

 platform below the 

 incline extending 

 down the Canadian 

 side of the gorge to 

 the Whirlpool Rap- 

 i d s at Niagara, 

 Frank looked at the 

 raging torrent, 

 across which an athlete could throw a 

 silver dollar. 



"Of course it is exquisite, " he ad- 

 mitted ; "in a limited sense, it is peer- 

 less and indescribable. Decent sort of 

 golden mist np there over the amethyst 

 flood in the notch of the Horseshoe. 

 But the hills around here are not forty 

 feet high, and that 'awful' chasm is a 

 scant ten rods deep, — say 160 feet." 



We eyed him sharply. Had he the 

 hardihood to ridicule this greatest fall 

 of water in the world? "What do you 

 mean?" Dan demanded. 



ijc >fc ^ >K ^ ^ 



"Boys," he drawled, as we lighted 

 cigars and lounged in easy chairs on 

 the porch of the Clifton House, "save 

 your big wonder-words. We leave in 

 two hours for a month with really big 

 things, — hills, fish, glaciers a hundred 

 miles long and hundreds of feet deep, 

 torrents and water-drops, grizzlies, cin- 

 namons, and the biggest lot of un- 

 fenced nature on the continent. No, 

 that does not spell Colorado, although 

 she's all right. Count the peaks in 

 Colorado over 14,000 feet high ; com- 

 pare, and note how the Alps suffer by 



that. For up around the Mount of the 

 Holy Cross is the backbone of North 

 America. But we are after fool-hens 

 and big-horns and mountain goats a 

 thousand miles further north, and an- 

 other thousand miles west of Colorado. 

 Our hills will be a half mile lower ; but 

 glaciers and waterfalls, — well ! Nothing 

 in even the Himalayas or Andes so fine 

 as the White Fire, Twins and Yoho ! 

 Yes, finer that the Yellowstone and 

 Yosemite. No, it's not Alaska. But I'm 

 not giving an illustrated lecture; pack 

 your grips and come on ; we shall live 

 five days in a sleeping-car." 



Chicago, St. Paul, Rat Portage, Win- 

 nipeg, and then days and nights speed- 

 ing through a level region where blan- 

 keted squaws sell bead and basket work 

 at the dingy stations ; Moose-Jaw, 

 Medicine Hat, the foothills, mountains 

 that increase to majesty, and far, sur- 

 prising ranges and vistas ; Banff and 

 more titanic hills and prospects ; Lag- 

 gan, and yet other mountain-worlds, 

 then Field, our destination ! 



Two bronzed men in buckskin trous- 

 ers with fringes, corduroy jackets and 

 broad hats, announce that they are our 

 "helpers," for guide was then an almost 

 unknown term. They escorted us to the 

 Mt. Stephen Hotel, where we learned 

 the excellence of British fare. 



We looked from our windows the 

 next morning and saw a buckboard 

 wagon piled high with camping uten- 

 sils and foods. Tents, blankets and a 

 pair of oars were strapped with the 

 diamond hitch upon a donkey ; two 

 other mules and three saddled horses 

 formed the balance of the dingy caval- 

 cade that wound out of town, followed 

 by Western jokes and loud wishes of 



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