eat
boulders, where the water seethed and roared, under deep cliffs where it
flew like a mill-race, there were always fish.

It was frightful work for the boatmen. It required skill every moment.
There was not a second in the day when they could relax. Only men
trained to river rapids could have done it, and few, even, of these. To
the eternal credit of George and Mike, we got through. It was nothing
else.

On the evening of the first day, in the dusk which made the river
doubly treacherous, we saw our camp-fire far ahead.

With the going-down of the sun, the river had grown cold. We were wet
with spray, cramped from sitting still and holding on. But friendly
hands drew our boats to shore and helped us out.

VII

THE SECOND DAY ON THE FLATHEAD

In a way, this is a fairy-story. Because a good fairy had been busy
during our absence. Days before, at the ranger's cabin, unknown to most
of us, an order had gone down to civilization for food. During all those
days under Starvation Ridge, food had been on the way by
pack-horse--food and an extra cook.

So we went up to camp, expecting more canned salmon and fried trout and
little else, and beheld--

A festive board set with candles--the board, however, in this case is
figurative; it was the ground covered with a tarpaulin--fried chicken,
fresh green beans, real bread, jam, potatoes, cheese, cake, candy,
cigars, and cigarettes. And--champagne!

That champagne had traveled a hundred miles on horseback. It had been
cooled in the icy water of the river. We drank it out of tin cups. We
toasted each other. We toasted the Flathead flowing just beside us. We
toasted the full moon rising over the Kootenais. We toasted the good
fairy. The candles burned low in their sockets--this, also, is
figurative; they were stuck on pieces of wood. With due formality I was
presented with a birthday gift, a fishing-reel purchased by the Big and
the Middle and the Little Boy.

Of all the birthdays that I can remember--and I remember quite a
few--this one was the most wonderful. Over mountain-tops, glowing deep
pink as they rose above masses of white clouds, came slowly a great
yellow moon. It turned the Flathead beside us to golden glory, and
transformed the evergreen thickets into fairy glades of light and
shadow. Flickering candles inside the tents made them glow in luminous
triangles against their background of forest.

Behind us, in the valley lands at the foot of the Rockie