LOOSE FANG, THE GRIZZLY 



Bv ARTHUR H. MARTLKV 



Midst flashing" snows, 



His dark form rose — 



The golden sunshine on him glowed ; 



His silver mantle round him flowed, 



As king-like down the slope he strode ; 



And as he comes he scatters pearls — 



The glittering ice around him swirls ; 



His blazing eyes behold me now ; 



He proudly rears his mighty brow, 



And, kingly is his greeting bow. 



I hear his quick and deep-drawn breath, 



And in his countenance there saith, 



Look on me, my name is Death — 



My rifle sight, a star of light, 



A moment on his dark breast dwells, 



As down he swings. 



Then Killcow sings — 



Her death song on the mountain swells- 



My Winchester — before her sight — 



Loose Fang — lies withered in his might ; 



And his proud form no more shall loom 



Within the purple forest's gloom. 



OT having a hunting 

 party last spring, 

 Henry Schwartz and 

 myself, guides, both, 

 in the big game 

 country of Lillooet, 

 B. C, decided on 

 taking a trip on 

 our own account to 

 look up some new 

 ground and inciden- 

 tally to do a little 

 shooting and pros- 

 pecting. We accord- 

 ingly started the middle of May from 

 the town of Lillooet, situated on the 

 Fraser River some 45 miles above 

 Lytton. I may perhaps be permitted to 

 digress a little to remark that this place 

 is becoming a favorite resort for tour- 

 ists and sportsmen from various parts 

 of the world, the magnificent scenery, 

 salubrious climate, variety of big and 

 small game and excellent fishing, all 

 conducing to the desire to return to 



those who have already come here. To 

 resume — taking a good saddle horse 

 each and two pack horses, with about 

 six weeks' provisions, rifles, tent, can- 

 vas boat, prospecting outfit, etc., we 

 proceeded at a leisurely rate for some 

 three or four days along good trails, 

 well known to us, on our way towards 

 the glaciers and wild canyons of the 

 upper waters of the south fork of 

 Bridge River. The blue grouse hooting' 

 on the hillsides, the drumming of the 

 ruffed grouse, the quack of the mallard 

 and the honk of the grey goose, served 

 to enliven the march. Now and then 

 a deer would cross the path, and at fre- 

 quent intervals bunches of the white 

 goat could be seen glistening on the op- 

 posite slopes. At the confluence of the 

 South Fork with the main river we left 

 part of our grub with some mining 

 friends. This stream is rich in gold, 

 nuggets of $100 value being sometimes 

 found. 

 The water being low, we forded with- 



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