Indian Henry's Hunting Ground — Rainier National Park 285 



mass of Rainier near at hand. A new trail leads off near here 

 to Van Trump Park, where deer and mountain goats can be 

 seen in herds. Twice that morning I saw deer feeding in the 

 open, grassy glades below the trail. The silence of the vast 

 forest took possession of me. ''Thought was not — in enjoy- 

 ment it expired." The trees so straight and firm made me in- 

 voluntarily straighten up and be strong, too. It is not work to 

 follow a trail like that— it is all pure joy. 



I reached the ridge but only to hasten joyfully down the 

 slope, cross the streams on bridges or stones, and lightly start 

 up the next slope. Many times the dashing streams, fresh from 

 the glaciers, would have made a delightful stopping-place, but 

 the "unknown" ahead gave no rest. When I reached up high 

 enough to get the view back to Mt. Adams (12,307 ft.), over 

 the waving, dark sky-line of the intervening ranges, that 

 seemed the most magical sight of all. Yet on again, and soon 

 in snow, with no trail now save the horses' marks in the soft 

 snow. It was easy to follow up and up through the splendid 

 groves of fresh young trees. I was now in Indian Henry's — 

 an enchanted land, if ever there was one. Great Rainier spread 

 out directly in front of me and all around was deep winter's 

 snow. The only dark spots were the tops of the spires of those 

 magical trees, set in brotherly clumps here and there. All the 

 winter scenes I had ever seen or imagined seemed included in 

 this happy land. Whatever else Indian Henry did, he surely 

 chose for his abode a region of amazing splendor. 



What would it be in its summer robe, if now so lovely still 

 in its winter robe of white? Flowers, they say, cover the 

 hills in radiant luxuriance. For me, I shall always want to 

 see it again, ag I did that July noon, in 191 3. 



On the walk back to Longmire Springs that afternoon, I 

 came upon a lovely mountain wanderer — a ptarmigan, out with 

 her tiny little ones on the snow, picking flies in the warm 

 sunshine. So gentle, sociable and altogether lovely they were, 

 directly by me on the hillside! 



Marmots, too, whistled to me as in the morning when I had 

 answered "Hello" thinking them some kindly human spirit in- 

 terested in my upward march ! This completes the list of 

 "wild animals" that I met on this never-to-be-forgotten trail. 



