untain
House, 180 miles distant by horse-trail. Our way led over hills and
plains and the great frozen Gull Lake to the Pas-co-pee, or Blind Man's
River, where we camped on December 3. At midnight there was a heavy
storm of snow. Next morning we rode through the defiles of the Three
Medicine Hills, and after midday, at the western termination of the last
gorge, there lay before me a sight to be long remembered. The great
chain of the Rocky Mountains rose their snow-clad sierras in endless
succession and in unclouded glory. The snow had cleared the atmosphere,
the sky was coldly bright.

An immense plain stretched from my feet to the mountains--a plain so
vast that every object of hill and wood and lake lay dwarfed into one
continuous level. And at the back of this level, beyond the pines and
lakes and the river courses, rose the giant range, solid, impassable,
silent--a mighty barrier rising amidst an immense land, standing
sentinel over the plains and prairies of America, over the measureless
solitudes of this Great Lone Land.

That night there came a frost, and on the morning of November 5 my
thermometer showed 22 degrees below zero. Riding through the foot hills
and pine woods we suddenly emerged on the high banks of the
Saskatchewan, and in the mid distance of a deep valley was the Mountain
House. There was great excitement at my arrival. My journey from the Red
River had occupied 41 days, and I had ridden in that time 1,180 miles.

_IV.--On the Dog Trail to Fort Garry_

I said good-bye to my friends at the Mountain House on December 12, and
once more turned my footsteps eastward. Without incident we reached
Edmonton, and there changed horses and travelled thenceforth, setting
out on December 20, with three trains of dogs--one to carry myself, and
the others to carry provisions and baggage. In fifty days of dog travel
we covered a distance of 1,300 miles, with the cold sometimes 45 degrees
below zero. Great as were the hardships and privations, the dog trail
had many moments of keen pleasure. It was January 19 when we reached the
high ground which looks down upon the forks of the Saskatchewan River.

We now entered the great sub-Arctic pine forest, the most important
preserve of those animals whose skins are rated in the markets of Europe
at four times their weight in gold. On January 22, 1871, we reached
Fort-a-la-Corne, where an old travel-worn Indian came with a mail which
contained news of the surrender o