iles of
loose bowlders and great patches of sage-bush. In the monotonous
stretches of this shrub, each plant of which looks exactly like every
other, dwelt many shy birds, as well hidden as bobolinks in the meadow
grass, or meadow-larks in the alfalfa.

But on this mountain side no friendly cover existed from which I could
spy out bird secrets. Whatever my position, and wherever I placed
myself, I was as conspicuous as a tower in the middle of a plain; again,
no shadow of protection was there from the too-ardent sun of Utah, which
drew the vitality from my frame as it did the color from my gown; worse
than these, the everywhere present rocks were the chosen haunts of the
one enemy of a peaceful bird lover, the rattlesnake, and I hesitated to
pursue the bird, because I invariably forgot to watch and listen for the
reptile. Bird study under these conditions was impossible, but the place
presented a phase of nature unfamiliar to me, and for a time so
fascinating that every morning my steps turned of themselves "up the
stony pathway to the hills."

The companion of my walks, a fellow bird-student, was more than
fascinated; she was enraptured. The odorous bush had associations for
her; she reveled in it; she inhaled its fragrance as a delicious
perfume; she filled her pockets with it; she lay for hours at a time on
the ground, where she could bask in the sunshine, and see nothing but
the gray leaves around her and the blue sky above.

I can hardly tell what was the fascination for me. It was certainly not
the view of the mountains, though mountains are beyond words in my
affections. The truth is, the Rocky Mountains, many of them, need a
certain distance to make them either picturesque or dignified. The range
then daily before our eyes, the Wasatch, was, to dwellers at its feet,
bleak, monotonous, and hopelessly prosaic. The lowest foothills, being
near, hid the taller peaks, as a penny before the eye will hide a whole
landscape.

Let me not, however, be unjust to the mountains I love. There is a
range which satisfies my soul, and will rest in my memory forever, a
beautiful picture, or rather a whole gallery of pictures. I can shut my
eyes and see it at this moment, as I have seen it a thousand times. In
the early morning, when the level sun shines on its face, it is like one
continuous mountain reaching across the whole western horizon; it has a
broken and beautiful sky line; Pike's Peak looms up toward the middle,
and