little while is
completely hidden by its closely crowding leafy arms. In places these
soft, pliable rugs unite and form extensive carpets. Strip off these
carpets and often all that remains is a barren exposure of sand or
gravel on bald or broken rocks, whose surfaces and edges have been
draped or buried by its green leaves and red berries.

In May kinnikinick rugs become flower-beds. Each flower is a
narrow-throated, pink-lipped, creamy-white jug, and is filled with a
drop of exquisitely flavored honey. The jugs in a short time change to
smooth purple berries, and in autumn they take on their winter dress
of scarlet. When ripe the berries taste like mealy crab-apples. I have
often seen chipmunks eating the berries, or apples, sitting up with
the fruit in both their deft little hands, and eating it with such
evident relish that I frequently found myself thinking of these
berries as chipmunk's apples.

Kinnikinick is widely distributed over the earth, and is most often
found on gravelly slopes or sandy stretches. Frequently you will find
it among scattered pines, trying to carpet their cathedral floor.
Many a summer day I have lain down and rested on these flat and fluffy
forest rugs, while between the tangled tops of the pines I looked at
the blue of the sky or watched the white clouds so serenely floating
there. Many a summer night upon these elastic spreads I have lain
and gazed at the thick-sown stars, or watched the ebbing, fading
camp-fire, at last to fall asleep and to rest as sweetly and serenely
as ever did the Scotchman upon his heathered Highlands. Many a morning
I have awakened late after a sleep so long that I had settled into the
yielding mass and Kinnikinick had put up an arm, either to shield my
face with its hand, or to show me, when I should awaken, its pretty
red berries and bright green leaves.

[Illustration: SUMMER AT AN ALTITUDE OF 12,000 FEET]

One morning, while visiting in a Blackfoot Indian camp, I saw the
men smoking kinnikinick leaves, and I asked if they had any legend
concerning the shrub. I felt sure they must have a fascinating story
of it which told of the Great Spirit's love for Kinnikinick, but they
had none. One of them said he had heard the Piute Indians tell why
the Great Spirit had made it, but he could not remember the account.
I inquired among many Indians, feeling that I should at last learn a
happy legend concerning it, but in vain. One night, however, by my
camp-fire, I d