Tenting To-night

Tenting To-night, by Mary Roberts Rinehart

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Title: Tenting To-night A Chronicle of Sport and Adventure in Glacier Park and the Cascade Mountains
Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart
Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #19475]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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TENTING TO-NIGHT
A Chronicle of Sport and Adventure in Glacier Park and the Cascade Mountains by
MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY =The Riverside Press Cambridge= 1918

COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY (COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE)
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published April 1918
[Illustration: Chiwawa Mountain and Lyman Lake]

CONTENTS
I. THE TRAIL 1
II. THE BIG ADVENTURE 10
III. BRIDGE CREEK TO BOWMAN LAKE 24
IV. A FISHERMAN'S PARADISE 39
V. TO KINTLA LAKE 50
VI. RUNNING THE RAPIDS OF THE FLATHEAD 63
VII. THE SECOND DAY ON THE FLATHEAD 71
VIII. THROUGH THE FLATHEAD CA?ON 80
IX. THE ROUND-UP AT KALISPELL 90
X. OFF FOR CASCADE PASS 100
XI. LAKE CHELAN TO LYMAN LAKE 111
XII. CLOUDY PASS AND THE AGNES CREEK VALLEY 129
XIII. CA?ON FISHING AND A TELEGRAM 142
XIV. DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE 150
XV. DOUBTFUL LAKE 158
XVI. OVER CASCADE PASS 167
XVII. OUT TO CIVILIZATION 180

ILLUSTRATIONS
CHIWAWA MOUNTAIN AND LYMAN LAKE Frontispiece
TRAIL OVER GUNSIGHT PASS, GLACIER NATIONAL PARK 2 Photograph by Fred H. Kiser, Portland, Oregon
THE AUTHOR, THE MIDDLE BOY, AND THE LITTLE BOY 6
LOOKING SOUTH FROM POLLOCK PASS, GLACIER NATIONAL PARK 14 Photograph by Kiser Photo Co.
LAKE ELIZABETH FROM PTARMIGAN PASS, GLACIER NATIONAL PARK 22 Photograph by A. J. Baker, Kalispell, Mont.
A MOUNTAIN LAKE IN GLACIER NATIONAL PARK 36 Photograph by Fred H. Kiser
GETTING READY FOR THE DAY'S FISHING AT CAMP ON BOWMAN LAKE 40 Photograph by R. E. Marble, Glacier Park
THE HORSES IN THE ROPE CORRAL 44 Photograph by A. J. Baker
BEAR-GRASS 56 Photograph by Fred H. Kiser
A GLACIER PARK LAKE 60 Photograph by A. J. Baker
STILL-WATER FISHING 68 Photograph by R. E. Marble
MOUNTAINS OF GLACIER NATIONAL PARK FROM THE NORTH FORK OF THE FLATHEAD RIVER 74 Photograph by R. E. Marble
THE BEGINNING OF THE CA?ON, MIDDLE FORK OF THE FLATHEAD RIVER 82 Photograph by R. E. Marble
PI-TA-MAK-AN, OR RUNNING EAGLE (MRS. RINEHART), WITH TWO OTHER MEMBERS OF THE BLACKFOOT TRIBE 96 Photograph by Haynes, St. Paul
A HIGH MOUNTAIN MEADOW 100 Photograph by L. D. Lindsley, Lake Chelan
SITTING BULL MOUNTAIN, LAKE CHELAN 112 Photograph by L. D. Lindsley
LOOKING OUT OF ICE-CAVE, LYMAN GLACIER 126 Photograph by L. D. Lindsley
LOOKING SOUTHEAST FROM CLOUDY PASS 132 Photograph by L. D. Lindsley
STREAM FISHING 144 Photograph by Haynes, St. Paul
MOUNTAIN MILES: THE TRAIL UP SWIFTCURRENT PASS, GLACIER NATIONAL PARK 152 Photograph by A. J. Baker
WHERE THE ROCK-SLIDES START (GLACIER NATIONAL PARK) 156 Photograph by A. J. Baker
SWITCHBACKS ON THE TRAIL (GLACIER NATIONAL PARK) 160 Photograph by Fred H. Kiser
WATCHING THE PACK-TRAIN COMING DOWN AT CASCADE PASS 174
A FIELD OF BEAR-GRASS 182 Photograph by Fred H. Kiser

TENTING TO-NIGHT

I
THE TRAIL
The trail is narrow--often but the width of the pony's feet, a tiny path that leads on and on. It is always ahead, sometimes bold and wide, as when it leads the way through the forest; often narrow, as when it hugs the sides of the precipice; sometimes even hiding for a time in river bottom or swamp, or covered by the d��bris of last winter's avalanche. Sometimes it picks its precarious way over snow-fields which hang at dizzy heights, and again it flounders through mountain streams, where the tired horses must struggle for footing, and do not even dare to stoop and drink.
It is dusty; it is wet. It climbs; it falls; it is beautiful and terrible. But always it skirts the coast of adventure. Always it goes on, and always it calls to those that follow it. Tiny path that it is, worn by the feet of earth's wanderers, it is the thread which has knit together the solid places of the earth. The path of feet in the wilderness is the onward march of life itself.
City-dwellers know nothing of the trail. Poor followers of the pavements, what to them is this six-inch path of glory? Life for many of them is but a thing of avenues and streets, fixed and unmysterious, a matter of numbers and lights and post-boxes and people. They know whither their streets lead. There is no surprise about them, no sudden discovery of a river to be forded, no glimpse of deer in full flight or of an eagle poised over a stream. No heights, no depths. To know if it rains at night, they look down at shining pavements; they do