Chiwawa Mountain and Lyman Lake[Frontispiece]
Trail over Gunsight Pass, Glacier National Park
Photograph by Fred H. Kiser, Portland, Oregon		[2]
The Author, the Middle Boy, and the Little Boy[6]
Looking South from Pollock Pass, Glacier National Park
Photograph by Kiser Photo Co.		[14]
Lake Elizabeth from Ptarmigan Pass, Glacier National Park
Photograph by A. J. Baker, Kalispell, Mont.		[22]
A Mountain Lake in Glacier National Park
Photograph by Fred H. Kiser		[36]
Getting Ready for the Day's Fishing at Camp on Bowman Lake
Photograph by R. E. Marble, Glacier Park		[40]
The Horses in the Rope Corral
Photograph by A. J. Baker		[44]
Bear-Grass
Photograph by Fred H. Kiser		[56]
A Glacier Park Lake
Photograph by A. J. Baker		[60]
Still-Water Fishing
Photograph by R. E. Marble		[68]
Mountains of Glacier National Park from the North Fork of the Flathead River
Photograph by R. E. Marble		[74]
The Beginning of the Cañon, Middle Fork of the Flathead River
Photograph by R. E. Marble		[82]
Pi-ta-mak-an, or Running Eagle (Mrs. Rinehart), with Two Other Members of the Blackfoot Tribe
Photograph by Haynes, St. Paul		[96]
A High Mountain Meadow
Photograph by L. D. Lindsley, Lake Chelan		[100]
Sitting Bull Mountain, Lake Chelan
Photograph by L. D. Lindsley		[112]
Looking out of Ice-cave, Lyman Glacier
Photograph by L. D. Lindsley		[126]
Looking Southeast from Cloudy Pass
Photograph by L. D. Lindsley		[132]
Stream Fishing
Photograph by Haynes, St. Paul		[144]
Mountain Miles: The Trail up Swiftcurrent Pass, Glacier National Park
Photograph by A. J. Baker		[152]
Where the Rock-Slides Start (Glacier National Park)
Photograph by A. J. Baker		[156]
Switchbacks on the Trail (Glacier National Park)
Photograph by Fred H. Kiser		[160]
Watching the Pack-Train coming down at Cascade Pass
[174]
A Field of Bear-Grass
Photograph by Fred H. Kiser		[182]

TENTING TO-NIGHT

I

THE TRAIL

The trail is narrow—often but the width of the pony's feet, a tiny path that leads on and on. It is always ahead, sometimes bold and wide, as when it leads the way through the forest; often narrow, as when it hugs the sides of the precipice; sometimes even hiding for a time in river bottom or swamp, or covered by the débris of last winter's avalanche. Sometimes it picks its precarious way over snow-fields which hang at dizzy heights, and again it flounders through mountain streams, where the tired horses must struggle for footing, and do not even dare to stoop and drink.

It is dusty; it is wet. It climbs; it falls; it is beautiful and terrible. But always it skirts the coast of adventure. Always it goes on, and always it calls to those that follow it. Tiny path that it is, worn by the feet of earth's wanderers, it is the thread which has knit together the solid places of the earth. The path of feet in the wilderness is the onward march of life itself.