This forest had hundreds of trees barked by porcupines, and some clear to the top.  But we met only one of the animals, and he left several quills in the nose of one of the pups.  I was of the opinion that these porcupines destroy many fine trees, as I saw a number barked all around.

We did not see any bear sign.  On the way back to camp we rode out of the forest and down a wide valley, the opposite side of which was open slope with patches of alder.  Even at a distance I could discern the color of these open glades and grassy benches.  They had a tinge of purple, like purple sage.  When I got to them I found a profusion of asters of the most exquisite shades of lavender, pink and purple.  That slope was long, and all the way up we rode through these beautiful wild flowers.  I shall never forget that sight, nor the many asters that shone like stars out of the green.  The pink ones were new to me, and actually did not seem real.  I noticed my horse occasionally nipped a bunch and ate them, which seemed to me almost as heartless as to tread them under foot.

When we got up the slope and into the woods again we met a storm, and traveled for an hour in the rain, and under the dripping spruces, feeling the cold wet sting of swaying branches as we rode by.  Then the sun came out bright and the forest glittered, all gold and green.  The smell of the woods after a rain is indescribable.  It combines a rare tang of pine, spruce, earth and air, all refreshed.

The day after, we left at eight o’clock, and rode down to the main trail, and up that for five miles where we cut off to the left and climbed into the timber.  The woods were fresh and dewy, dark and cool, and for a long time we climbed bench after bench where the grass and ferns and moss made a thick, deep cover.  Farther up we got into fallen timber and made slow progress.  At timber line we tied the horses and climbed up to the pass between two great mountain ramparts.  Sheep tracks were in evidence, but not very fresh.  Teague and I climbed on top and R.C., with Vern, went below just along the timber line.  The climb on foot took all my strength, and many times I had to halt for breath.  The air was cold.  We stole along the rim and peered over.  R.C. and Vern looked like very little men far below, and the dogs resembled mice.

Teague climbed higher, and left me on a promontory, watching all around.

The cloud pageant was magnificent, with huge billowy white masses across the valley, and to the west great black thunderheads rolling up.  The wind began to blow hard, carrying drops of rain that stung, and the air was nipping cold.  I felt aloof from all the crowded world, alone on the windy heights, with clouds and storm all around me.