shirt open, over drifts whose
edges, even, dripped no water. The direct rays seem to have absolutely
no effect. A scientific explanation I have never heard expressed; but
I suppose the cold nights freeze the drifts and pack them so hard that
the short noon heat cannot penetrate their density. I may be quite
wrong as to my reason, but I am entirely correct as to my fact.

Another curious thing is that we met our mosquitoes only rarely below
the snow-line. The camping in the Sierras is ideal for lack of these
pests. They never bite hard nor stay long even when found. But just
as sure as we approached snow, then we renewed acquaintance with our
old friends of the north woods.

It is analogous to the fact that the farther north you go into the fur
countries, the more abundant they become.

By and by it was time to descend. The camp lay directly below us. We
decided to go to it straight, and so stepped off on an impossibly steep
slope covered, not with the great boulders and granite blocks, but with
a fine loose shale. At every stride we stepped ten feet and slid five.
It was gloriously near to flying. Leaning far back, our arms spread
wide to keep our balance, spying alertly far ahead as to where we were
going to land, utterly unable to check until we encountered a
half-buried ledge of some sort, and shouting wildly at every plunge, we
fairly shot downhill. The floor of our valley rose to us as the earth
to a descending balloon. In three quarters of an hour we had reached
the first flat.

There we halted to puzzle over the trail of a mountain lion clearly
printed on the soft ground. What had the great cat been doing away up
there above the hunting country, above cover, above everything that
would appeal to a well-regulated cat of any size whatsoever? We
theorized at length, but gave it up finally, and went on. Then a
familiar perfume rose to our nostrils. We plucked curiously at a bed
of catnip and wondered whether the animal had journeyed so far to enjoy
what is always such a treat to her domestic sisters.

It was nearly dark when we reached camp. We found Wes contentedly
scraping away at the bearskins.

"Hello," said he, looking up with a grin. "Hello, you dam fools! I'VE
been having a good time. I've been fishing."

XVIII

THE GIANT FOREST

Every one is familiar, at least by reputation and photograph, with the
Big Trees of California. All have seen pictures of stage-coaches
driving in