As the dawn broke in the east, and gradually grew into a broader band of light, the huge ramparts of the lofty shores wore strange, unearthly aspects. Six hundred feet above the ice, wind and sun had already swept the snow, and the bare hill-tops rose to view, free, at last, from winter’s covering.
NIGHT INTO DAY.
Lower down full many a rugged ridge, and steep, scarped precipice, held its clinging growth of pine and poplar, or showed gigantic slides, upon whose gravelly surface the loosened stones rolled with sullen echo, into the river chasm beneath. Between these huge walls lay the river, broadly curving from the west, motionless and soundless, as we swept with rapid stride over its sleeping waters.
Sometimes in the early morning, upon these steep ridges, the moose would emerge from his covert, and look down on the passing dog trains, his huge, ungainly head outstretched to
“Sniff the tainted gale,”
his great ears lying forward to catch the faint jingle of our dog-bells. Nearly all else seemed to sleep in endless slumber, for, alone of summer denizens, the owl, the moose, the wolf, and the raven keep winter watch over the wilderness of the Peace River.
At daybreak, on the 1st of April, we were at the mouth of the Smoking River. This stream enters the Peace River from the south-west. It has its source but a couple of days’ journey north of the Athabasca River, at the spot where that river emerges from the Rocky Mountains. And it drains the beautiful region of varied prairie and forest-land, which lies at the base of the mountains between the Peace and Athabasca rivers.
The men made a long march this day. Inspired by the offer of a gratuity, if they could make the fort by night-time, and anxious, perhaps, to atone for past shortcomings, they made up a train of five strong dogs.
Setting out with this train at eight o’clock in the morning, three of them held the pace so gamely that when evening closed we were in sight of the lofty ridge which overhangs at the north shore, the fort of Dunvegan.