LEDGER AND THE ROAN 333 
follows the road to Bakersvllle, preferably afoot, for 
it is only a few miles, and there are those charming 
views of the mountains, deep indigo in one direction, 
while in the other the Blacks appear, sombre, solid, 
and strong, or else seeming to hang suspended, half 
dissolved in gray rain-mists. To enjoy the way 
properly one should not only walk, but take time 
to sit on a rock and consider how the tall white spikes 
of the black snakeroot shine out of the dark woods, 
and ponder over the peculiar, penetrating odor of 
the sourwood that on a hot day pursues one like a 
dream, the fragrance seeming to lie in wait at the 
turns of the road to embrace one, the trees whence it 
comes standing somewhere unseen in the depths of 
the forest. 
Bakersville lies in the valley of Cane Creek that 
runs down the middle of the village with houses on 
either side, the road and the creek identical in 
places. This confidence in pretty Cane Creek was 
ill-requited when, in the terrible floods that occurred 
a few years ago, it rose and roared and thundered 
through the valley and nearly wiped out of exist- 
ence Bakersville, which is the largest village in this 
part of the mountains, and which like Burnsville, is 
an educational centre. Now the railroad that has 
made its way up the wild Toe River passes close, 
making the fortunate village easily accessible to the 
outer world that stands knocking at the gates of 
the mountains. 
But to the visitor who comes to explore, Bakers- 
ville's principal attraction is its proximity to the 
