ly from across the marsh, and
with my field-glass I could see them striding along in the edge of
the water. The sun was getting well toward the west. All around stood
the dark and mysterious forest, out of which strange noises broke.

In answer to the bugling of the cranes, loons were wildly calling, a
flock of geese, hidden somewhere under the level blaze of the
orange-colored light of the setting sun, were holding clamorous
convention. This is one of the compensating moments of the trail. To
come out of a gloomy and forbidding wood into an open and grassy
bank, to see the sun setting across the marsh behind the most
splendid blue mountains, makes up for many weary hours of toil.

As I lay down to sleep I heard a coyote cry, and the loons answered,
and out of the cold, clear night the splendid voices of the cranes
rang triumphantly. The heavens were made as brass by their superb,
defiant notes.

THE WHOOPING CRANE

At sunset from the shadowed sedge
Of lonely lake, among the reeds,
He lifts his brazen-throated call,
And the listening cat with teeth at edge
With famine hears and heeds.

"_Come one, come all, come all, come all!_"
Is the bird's challenge bravely blown
To every beast the woodlands own.

"_My legs are long, my wings are strong,_
_I wait the answer to my threat._"
Echoing, fearless, triumphant, the cry
Disperses through the world, and yet
Only the clamorous, cloudless sky
And the wooded mountains make reply.

THE LOON

At some far time
This water sprite
A brother of the coyote must have been.
For when the sun is set,
Forth from the failing light
His harsh cries fret
The silence of the night,
And the hid wolf answers with a wailing keen.

CHAPTER VII

THE BLACKWATER DIVIDE

About noon the next day we suddenly descended to the Blackwater, a
swift stream which had been newly bridged by those ahead of us. In
this wild land streams were our only objective points; the mountains
had no names, and the monotony of the forest produced a singular
effect on our minds. Our journey at times seemed a sort of motionless
progression. Once our tent was set and our baggage arranged about us,
we lost all sense of having moved at all.

Immediately after leaving the Blackwater bridge we had a grateful
touch of an Indian trail. The telegraph route ke