and forging up
boiling rapids had developed these sturdy mountaineer trout into
prodigies of strength and endurance. Even now my nerves tingle to the
tips of my toes as in fancy I hear my reel hum or see the tip of my five
ounce split bamboo bend so as to almost form a circle.

I fished that stream with hands trembling with excitement and had filled
my creel with the rare fish before I began to notice other objects of
interest. Suddenly I became aware of the presence of two birds hovering
over and diving under the cold water. They were evidently feeding on
some aquatic creature which my duller senses could not discern.

Although they were the first of the kind that I had ever seen alive, I
at once recognized the feathered visitors to be water ouzels. The birds
preceded me on my way along the water course towards camp, and were
never quiet a minute. They would hop on a rock in mid-stream and bob up
and down in a most solemn but comical manner for a moment before
plunging fearlessly into the cold white spray of the falls or the swift
dashing current, where they would disappear below the surface only to
reappear once more on another rock to bob again.

A ducking did not trouble the ouzels, for as they came out of the water
the liquid rolled in crystal drops from their feathers and their plumage
was as dry as if it had never been submerged. The wilder and swifter the
cold glacier water ran the more the birds seemed to enjoy it.

The nearer I approached the edge of the precipitous walls, enclosing the
valley comprising Big Pete's park, the rougher grew the trail, and as I
was picking my way I paused to gaze at the distant purple peaks and
watch the sun set in that lonely land as if I was witnessing it for the
first time. As my eyes roamed over the stupendous distance and unnamed
mountains I felt my own puny insignificance, as who has not when
confronted with the vastness of nature.

I turned from my view of the sunset to retrace my steps to the valley,
and peeping over the top of a large boulder, saw seated upon an
inaccessible crag directly in front of me, a gigantic figure of a man
clad in a hunter's garb, and he was smoking a long cigar!

When I thought of Big Pete's description of how the Wild Hunter was wont
to sit with his long legs dangling from some rock while he smoked one of
those unprocurable cigars, and when I realized that the figure before me
was fully sixty feet tall, I must confess to experiencing a quee