his wings thunder, and the glances of his eyes lightning. This bird
created all things from the earth except the Chipewyans, who were made
from dogs. Now the Chipewyans and the Atnahs were not on borrowing
terms.

These were the times when the Indians were as plentiful in the
Athabaska Valley as dandelions in a meadow, and they told this
Mackenzie of Inverness how, in the good old days, their ancestors lived
till their throats were worn out with eating and their feet with
walking.

The Athabaska Valley is enclosed by a circle of the hills, the two most
prominent of these being Roche Perdrix, or Folding Mountain, and Roche
Miette. The latter peak takes its name from the French word _roche_,
meaning "rock," and _miette_ which is the Cree for sheep, this because
of the mountain-sheep which make it their home. It is 8,000 feet high
(I give you the height because it is not legal to go down the line
without so doing). Somewhere, near here, at Fiddle Creek, at a height
of 1,200 feet above the railway, there are wonderful hot springs
concerning which Burney talks learnedly. I pretend to understand all
about sulphuric anhydride, and carbon dioxide, and 127 degrees
Fahrenheit, but do not really know if there are things which should be
remembered or forgotten.

Other of the peaks which enclose the Valley are Roche Ronde, Roche
Jacques, Bullrush and Roche Suette. Off to the west, the range of
hills silhouetted against the sky is known as the Fiddle Back Range.
These are crowned with snow, but as the sky changes, take to themselves
its moods--coral-red, opal, stone-blue and a mellow, purple glow, which
blend and shift like the weird fantasy of the auroral lights.

It is an idea of mine that these hills are the lair of the running
winds which for past eons have swept in bitter streaks across the
prairies, winnowing them like a thresher would winnow grain.
Seven-leagued boots have they and no man has tracked them down. How
could a man when they fling dust in his eyes? They are the bitter
scouts of the North who fight as they go. I have no doubt their home
is hereabout. It might be found if we had time to stay, but this would
take too long, for you must surely understand these winds are
non-resident to a degree that is nothing short of scandalous.

At this point, we ought in all propriety to talk about Brule Lake,
which is not a lake at all, but an enlargement of the river. We should
nudge each other and remark that