side of Glacier National Park, in northwestern Montana, to the
Canadian border. If we survived that, we intended to go by rail to the
Chelan country in northern Washington and there, again with a
pack-train, cross the Cascades over totally unknown country to Puget
Sound.

We did both, to the eternal credit of our guides and horses.

The family, luckily for those of us who have the _Wanderlust_, is four
fifths masculine. I am the odd fifth--unlike the story of King George
the Fifth and Queen Mary the other four fifths. It consists of the head
of the family, to be known hereafter as the Head, the Big Boy, the
Middle Boy, the Little Boy, and myself. As the Big Boy is very, very
big, and the Little Boy is not really very little, being on the verge of
long trousers, we make a comfortable traveling unit. And, because we
were leaving the beaten path and going a-gypsying, with a new camp each
night no one knew exactly where, the party gradually augmented.

First, we added an optimist named Bob. Then we added a "movie"-man,
called Joe for short and because it was his name, and a "still"
photographer, who was literally still most of the time. Some of these
pictures are his. He did some beautiful work, but he really needed a
mouth only to eat with.

(The "movie"-man is unpopular with the junior members of the family just
now, because he hid his camera in the bushes and took the Little Boy
in a state of goose flesh on the bank of Bowman Lake.)

[Illustration: _The Author, the Middle Boy, and the Little Boy_]

But, of course, we have not got to Bowman Lake yet.

During the year before, I had ridden over the better-known trails of
Glacier Park with Howard Eaton's riding party, and when I had crossed
the Gunsight Pass, we had looked north and west to a great country of
mountains capped with snow, with dense forests on the lower slopes and
in the valleys.

"What is it?" I had asked the ranger who had accompanied us across the
pass.

"It is the west side of Glacier Park," he explained. "It is not yet
opened up for tourist travel. Once or twice in a year, a camping party
goes up through this part of the park. That is all."

"What is it like?" I asked.

"Wonderful!"

So, sitting there on my horse, I made up my mind that sometime _I_ would
go up the west side of Glacier Park to the Canadian border.

Roughly speaking, there are at least six hundred square miles of
Glacier Park on the west side that are easily accessible, but