"Look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the mountain side," said Fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? How bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks. Those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, I guess, they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the kids. Surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies that can fly. Except for the goats and the wood-chucks, I don't believe there are any living things up there but birds. I'll bet there are lots of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. The little mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this time are hatched. The young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in color, and streaked here and there with brown. You would hardly think it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain, and the snows that they must be exposed to."
"Did you ever find a nest, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from the East, nearly twenty years ago, I found the nest of a white-tailed ptarmigan high up on the range, but I have never seen a nest of these black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the North Arm. Once or twice, though, I have come across a mother with her young ones, and I tell you the mother is a plucky bird. If you catch one of the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty good fight. I have had one come up to my very feet and then fly against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of course, I always did it after I had finished looking at it."
"I don't suppose there's much game up here," said Hugh to Fannin, "except these goats that live high up in the mountains. It seems too cold and damp here for anything like deer."
"Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about that. I, myself, have never been here before, and Bute Inlet is as strange to me and just as beautiful as it is to you."
While all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. They passed one great gorge between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and, pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the gorge toward the inlet. From beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its way. Always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the gorge. Long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called to the other. The rush of this great mass of water Jack thought enough to frighten one.
When they reached the mouth of the Homalko River, at the head of the inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them cast dark shadows. The peaks of the mountains were still touched by the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. But over the snow fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange, long shadows. As the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to lengthen and to march along as if alive. Slowly this glow faded, until only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene.
At the mouth of the Homalko River began a couple of miles of long, hard pulling against its hurrying current. At last, however, after winding through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before them an open spot, and presently the houses of the Indian village appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. Soon they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. The day had been one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and hungry. Moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. Happily, the insects did not enter the Siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. That night the party went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow river valley on both sides.
When Jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,—gray dawn, as he thought,—and he turned over and settled himself for another nap, to await Charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. A little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Fannin standing by the fire already dressed.
Jack asked: "Is it time to turn out, Mr. Fannin?"