In the evening we encamped on a tiny prairie, rich with vetches in full bloom. The frost set in keenly, so that water left standing in the cups overnight showed an incrustation of ice one-eighth of an inch thick in the morning; and Mr. O’B., who persisted in wearing boots in preference to moccasins, found them frozen so hard that we were compelled to delay our start until they were thoroughly thawed. The next day, at noon, we reached a very picturesque little lake, circular in shape, and shut in on every side by lofty mountains, with rugged, precipitous sides. A solitary loon, resting alone on the surface of the lake, sent forth its melancholy wail, and added to the wildness of the place.

The flowers in the open glade were very gay; tiger lilies, roses, the Gallardia picta, the blue borage, the white and purple vetch, red orchis, and the marsh violet were the most conspicuous. After leaving the lake, tracks diverged in various directions, and the one we followed ended at the river’s edge. We, however, discovered an old, grown-up track, which also came to an end very quickly, where was a rough log structure, which appeared to have been used as a cache for meat, for it was too small to have served as a dwelling. The river here widened into a lake about a mile in length, and some half a mile in breadth. We encamped for the night, hoping to recover the right trail on the morrow. The mosquitoes and gad-flies were more tormenting than ever, and the horses wandered restlessly about all night long. Mr. O’B., who chose to make his bed in the open air, passed a wakeful time, in expectation of being trampled to death by the horses, who persisted in walking over him in spite of the thumpings they received from a long pole which he invariably kept beside his bed for the purpose, and before daylight he crept into the lodge for safety. Milton, dreaming at the time, woke up with a shout, and Mr. O’B. cried out in terror, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! this is perfectly horrible—what has happened? It’s only me—O’B.—don’t shoot, my lord!” Every one then woke up, and there was a general commotion; but finding the alarm groundless, all returned to their blankets, except the unhappy cause of the disturbance, who remained sitting out the hours of darkness, too discomposed for sleep.

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OVER THE MOUNTAIN, NEAR JASPER HOUSE.

(See [page 231].)

On the morrow we remained in camp, mending moccasins, and fruitlessly fishing, whilst The Assiniboine searched for the right trail. He returned in the evening, having found the path, still following the river. The trail began to ascend the river bank, and we presently encountered a thick smoke. A little further we found the path completely obstructed by fallen trees, and obliterated by the effects of a fire which was still smouldering. Although this was encouraging, as evidence of the recent presence of man, we made very slow progress; now chopping through the trees which barred the road, now descending to seek the very brink of the river, now again ascending the steep hill side, so as to avoid as much as possible the difficulties which beset us. The Assiniboine brought us out about noon where the path showed clearly on a little open plateau, covered with wild flowers, at the base of the “Roche à Myette,” which rose perpendicularly above. Here we unpacked the horses and stayed to rest.

In the afternoon we saw numerous fresh tracks of the bighorn, or “mouton gris,” the wild sheep of the Rocky Mountains,[9] and The Assiniboine and Cheadle scaled the steep sides of the mountains, which now closely shut in the valley, in pursuit. The rest passed on along a well-marked trail, which ascended abruptly, to avoid a precipitous cliff overhanging the river at this point. Higher and higher still it led them, along rocky ledges or up steep, green, slippery slopes, until it reached the point where vegetation ceased, separated by a rocky precipice from the height of perpetual snow. The horses frequently stopped, and tried to turn back from their arduous task, and Mr. O’B.’s steed, a powerful roan stallion, in high condition, coolly lay down and refused to proceed. Mr. O’B. slipped off with great celerity, remarking, “Poor fellow! my weight is too much for him.” The horse took advantage of the opportunity and began to descend, his owner remarking, indifferently, that it was no use attempting to fetch him, as he was far too exhausted to proceed further. Milton and the boy, however, speedily brought him back to the rest, and before long the utmost height was reached. We were now fairly in the Rocky Mountains, and even the woman and boy cried out, “Aiwakarken!” with delight and admiration at the magnificent scenery around. On every side a succession of peaks towered up, of strange fantastic shape. To the west, the Priest’s Rock, a pyramid of ice, shone brightly above a dark pine-clad hill; to the east, the remarkable Roche à Myette; in front and behind, conical, pinnacled, and rugged mountains. Hundreds of feet immediately beneath rushed the torrent of the Athabasca. Emerging from the heart of the mountains through a narrow gorge into the wider valley, the river expands into a lake three or four miles in length; then again narrowing, flows in several channels round wooded islands, to open out once more into a second lake, smaller than the first. On the further bank of the river, between the two lakes, they had the satisfaction of seeing, like a mere speck in the valley below, the little wooden building we had been so anxiously expecting to reach, for until it lay actually in view, it was very uncertain that we were really following the road to Jasper House, and not some mere hunter’s track into the mountains.

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