f went on a hunting-excursion on the second day at Lyman Lake.
Now, theoretically, I am a mighty hunter. I have always expected to
shoot something worth while and be photographed with my foot on it, and
a "bearer"--whatever that may be--holding my gun in the background. So
when Mr. Fred proposed an early start and a search along the side of
Chiwawa Mountain for anything from sheep to goats, including a grizzly
if possible, my imagination was roused. So jealous were we that the
first game should be ours that the party was kept a profound secret. Mr.
Fred and Mrs. Fred, the Head, and I planned it ourselves.

We would rise early, and, armed to the teeth, would stalk the skulking
bear to his den.

Rising early is also a theory of mine. I approve of it. But I do not
consider it rising early to get up at three o'clock in the morning.
Three o'clock in the morning is late at night. The moon was still up. It
was frightfully cold. My shoes were damp and refused to go on. I could
not find any hairpins. And I recalled a number of stories of the extreme
disagreeableness of bears when not shot in a vital spot.

With all our hurry, it was four o'clock when we were ready to start. No
sun was in sight, but already a faint rose-colored tint was on the tops
of the mountains. Whiskers raised a sleepy head and looked at us from
Dan's bed. We tiptoed through the camp and started.

We climbed. Then we climbed some more. Then we kept on climbing. Mr.
Fred led the way. He had the energy of a high-powered car and the
hopefulness of a pacifist. From ledge to ledge he scrambled, turning now
and then to wave an encouraging hand. It was not long before I ceased to
have strength to wave back. Hours went on. Five hundred feet, one
thousand feet, fifteen hundred feet above the lake. I confided to the
Head, between gasps, that I was dying. We had seen no living thing; we
continued to see no living thing. Two thousand feet, twenty-five hundred
feet. There was not enough air in the world to fill my collapsed lungs.

Once Mr. Fred found a track, and scurried off in a new direction. Still
no result. The sun was up by that time, and I judged that it was about
noon. It was only six-thirty.

A sort of desperation took possession of us all. We would keep up with
Mr. Fred or die trying. And then, suddenly, we were on the very roof of
the world, on the top of Cloudy Pass. All the kingdoms of the earth lay
stretched out around us, and all the kingdoms of the