of the timber into the patches of snow.  Here snow could be felt in the air.  Water was everywhere.  I saw a fox, a badger, and another furry creature, too illusive to name.  One more climb brought us to the top of the Flattop Pass, about eleven thousand feet.  The view in the direction from which we had come was splendid, and led the eye to the distant sweeping ranges, dark and dim along the horizon.  The Flattops were flat enough, but not very wide at this pass, and we were soon going down again into a green gulf of spruce, with ragged peaks lifting beyond.  Here again I got the suggestion of limitless space.  It took us an hour to ride down to Little Trappers Lake, a small clear green sheet of water.  The larger lake was farther down.  It was big, irregular, and bordered by spruce forests, and shadowed by the lofty gray peaks.

The Camp was on the far side.  The air appeared rather warm, and mosquitoes bothered us.  However, they did not stay long.  It was after sunset and I was too tired to have many impressions.

Our cook appeared to be a melancholy man.  He had a deep quavering voice, a long drooping mustache and sad eyes.  He was silent most of the time.  The men called him Bill, and yelled when they spoke, for he was somewhat deaf.  It did not take me long to discover that he was a good cook.

Our tent was pitched down the slope from the cook tent.  We were too tired to sit round a camp-fire and talk.  The stars were white and splendid, and they hung over the flat ridges like great beacon lights.  The lake appeared to be inclosed on three sides by amphitheatric mountains, black with spruce up to the gray walls of rock.  The night grew cold and very still.  The bells on the horses tinkled distantly.  There was a soft murmur of falling water.  A lonesome coyote barked, and that thrilled me.  Teague’s dogs answered this prowler, and some of them had voices to make a hunter thrill.  One, the bloodhound Cain, had a roar like a lion’s.  I had not gotten acquainted with the hounds, and I was thinking about them when I fell asleep.

Next morning I was up at five-thirty.  The air was cold and nipping and frost shone on grass and sage.  A red glow of sunrise gleamed on the tip of the mountain and slowly grew downward.

The cool handle of an axe felt good.  I soon found, however, that I could not wield it long for lack of breath.  The elevation was close to ten thousand feet and the air at that height was thin and rare.  After each series of lusty strokes I had to rest.  R.C., who could handle an axe as he used to swing a baseball bat, made fun of my efforts.  Whereupon I relinquished the tool to him, and chuckled at his discomfiture.

After breakfast R.C. and I got out our tackles and rigged up fly rods, and sallied forth to the lake with the same eagerness we had felt when we were boys going after chubs and sunfish.  The lake glistened green in the sunlight and it lay like a gem at the foot of the magnificent black slopes.