At the Top of the Canyon

At the Top of the Canyon By Claude T. Barnes

In Two Parts —Part 1

It was a languid afternoon in August, when Stuart Reed dis- mounted and, stretching himself full length, drank heartily of a cold mountain spring. He had threshed out a fire in Bear Can- yon and was tired after a long ride through timber and over ridges. Allowing his fine sorrel horse to nibble about at will, he tossed his hat on the grass and sat down to rest and to enjoy for a few minutes the ever-interesting phenomena of nature. Far below him spread a level valley, quivering rays of sum- mer heat and a thin haze of smoke giving a distant range of mountains an opalescent hue, while the great city that reposed on the gentle slopes resembled a mammoth checker-board of antique green and gray, with here and there colossal chess men of white or brown. The canyon sides about him were shaded with forests of lodge-pole and white pines and he lounged beside a blue spruce ;

as handsome as any he had yet seen. As he meditated the fret- ful brook at his feet the sun's rays were reflected as if by a thou- sand tiny mirrors and even the leaves of the aspens scintillated and shone with a vibrant brilliancy almost as strong as that of the tinkling bubbles and miniature waves. For nearly a half hour he pondered, hearing little save the sharp stridulation of grasshoppers and the occasional scream of a western red-tailed hawk, which wheeled about with eyes ever alert for chipmunks and rodents. At last he arose and proceeded ^isurely to pick a few luscious service berries from a bush near by, reaching high where he thought the best fruit grew, and breaking a few branches with his feet below. Suddenly his horse whinnied so, turning, he was astonished ;

to behold standing on a large rock in the little stream which he had just left, what his quick eyes at once concluded to be the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. Of medium height and of perfect contour, she wore tall, tan boots, a short, white corduroy skirt, and a silk middy; and as she twirled her white hat in her hand, the sun fairly beamed through her wealth of brown hair. Her pretty, white teeth enhanced her smile, and her brown eyes danced with merriment as Stuart slowly approached. "Did I startle you?" she inquired. "Well, no-o and y-es," he confusedly replied, as he re- moved his hat and stood before her.

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A strange look for a second swept over her face as she noted his fine, manly build; for in surprising she had been herself surprised. She as quickly collected herself, however, and cast her eyes down the canyon. "You see I climbed too fast for my friends," she began, "and when I trudged round the trail there and saw you picking berries I just thought I would stand still on this rock and wait for you to turn." "You did not count on my horse, did you?" "No, that's true," she replied, as she glanced at the animal which was browsing nearby. She studied it for a moment and then said pleasantly as if having just solved a riddle: "Oh, I know; you are a forest ranger." "That's a good guess, my friend," he responded, in the frank western manner characteristic of his kind. He had spoken the words "my friend" without any thought, because he used them habitually even to strangers met on the trail; but to her they were almost a prophecy of comradeship, though why they should please her so she could scarcely understand. "Six of us plodded all the way up the canyon today," she said, as she stepped over towards the spring. "We ate lunch in that grove of quaking aspens at the forks; and afterward I de- cided I wanted to find a fuchsia; so I just walked ahead, and here I am. Are you acquainted with the fuchsia?" "The California, Zauschneria California, I suppose?" he replied. "Yes, that's it exactly," she said, and at the same time she gave him a glance of astonishment. She knew at once that it would be discourteous to inquire how he should know such a thing; hence though filled with curiosity she repressed her amazement and listened. "Let us sit down while I think a moment," he ?nvited, as he unstrapped his coat from the saddle and spread it for her be- neath the spruce. "That member of the evening primrose fam- ily blooms in these mountains during July and August; and I recall now that I have seen very few this summer. There ought to be a bunch or two in the rocks near my cabin, which nestles in the tall pines at the head of the canyon here; and I remem- ber having seen some two weeks ago over the ridge in Pole canyon. Have you any specimens of it?" "No, I haven't, I'm sorry to say," she confessed, "and won't you please describe it to me as it appears here, for they tell me it is one of the rarest and handsomest flowers of all the Wa-

satch." "Yes, that's true," he replied, as he reclined on the grass at her feet and looked steadily at her with his frank, gray eyes.

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"It is a beautiful, blood-red fuchsia with ovate or denticulate leaves on a slender stem about a foot high. It is quite shrubby at the base, but the showy flowers appear in racemes all the way up the stock. It grows in bunches on rocks from six to eleven thousand feet altitude; and in these mountains, only on the open, sunny places of the south slopes. It is exceedingly brilliant, and has the happy characteristic of keeping its vivid colors indefinitely. It is, indeed, the prize of the mountains." For a moment silence reigned between them; and as Stuart turned his handsome head from her, she wondered what could be the explanation of this man's evident education and refine- ment, coupled with his employment as a forest ranger. She noticed that his hands, while sun-burned, were nevertheless not knotted and coarse with toil. He appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty years of age; as neat and clean as a flower about his person; and withal a splendid specimen of manhood. When he smiled, as he frequently did, he showed the fine, well- kept teeth of a gentleman; and as she quietly surveyed him, she was stirred with a delightful sense of security by his presence. While they sat thus pondering, a bird, smaller than a robin, with dark plumbeous body and clove-colored head, flew to the rock on which she had stood and, while looking into the minia- ture cascade below, constantly moved about and dipped its head up and down. Quickly Stuart reached back and grasped his companion's hand while with his other he motioned her to keep still. She was thrilled by even this unconscious touch, yet steadfastly looked at the bird to see what would happen. It teetered for a moment more and then flew into the water, swim- ming about beneath the surface with its wings and overturning submerged stones; and then, having perhaps caught an aquatic insect or so, it arose and, chattering, flew down stream. Stuart turned towards his companion and suddenly sensing that his hand held hers, quickly released it. His eyes dropped, a slight flush glowed over his face, and he said, half apologet- ically : "It's the water ousel, our only North American dipper; and I did want you to observe its unique habit of feeding beneath the water as if it were a fish. It is the most characteristic and charming bird of all the Wasatch." "How pleasing life in the wilds is when one can both see and understand," she replied. "Where does such a remarkable bird build its nest?" "Its nest," he answered, "is constructed beside the stream, often within the very mist of a little waterfall. It looks like a child's play-muff, made of moss, consisting of a floor of small twigs, over which, in oven shape, is built sides and roof, the lat-

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ter being arched over so as to protect the opening. The bird's song is remarkably sweet and lively, in modulation somewhat resembling that of the brown thrasher of the East, being less powerful but much sweeter in effect." From down the canyon some one holloed a long-drawn "O-ho! ho!" which caused the young woman to rise. "It's my friends calling for me," she said. "I told them I must find a fuchsia and now perhaps they think I am lost. I sup- pose that I ought to stroll down towards them, as Jack anyhow will not like my coming up here alone." Stuart arose, and after folding his coat carefully buckled it behind the saddle. He threw the reins over his shoulder and then led the sorrel down to the spring. The young woman looked on with interest and, as the horse stood drinking, she examined the rifle that rested in its scabbard, asked to peep through the field glasses that hung from the pommel of the saddle and looked inquiringly at a small, round leather case that was suspended by a strap over Stuart's shoulder. "This is a very delicate instrument," he said, as he un- buckled it. "This side is, as you see, a barometer and a ther- mometer. The barometer gives me the altitude, which is here, for instance, just seven thousand seven hundred fifty feet. On the other side I have a compass so finely adjusted on its jewel pinion that even a knife blade will cause it to turn. It is to me a most instructive and reliable companion; and I am really grateful to it for having more than once led me to the cabin through blinding snow." As the horse ceased drinking it nibbled gently at Stuart's shoulder, as if to indicate that it was ready to go home. With- out looking at its head at all, he reached his hand and rubbed it affectionately on the nose. He stood silently for a moment, drinking in the rare beauty of the girl beside him, and then quickly sprang into the saddle. "Well, I suppose I'll be going," he said, as he removed his hat and bent over slightly in the saddle. "If you are really in- terested in the fuchsia and cannot find one, I surmise that you might discover one right under that balsam some day soon, if you care to look." He held out his hand, pressed hers politely, said "Good-bye" and wheeled his sorrel on up the canyon. When he had gone about twenty-five yards, and just as he was about to disappear behind some aspens, he stopped, and turning his head back to- wards the girl who had not moved, opened his lips as if to say something, but evidently changing his mind, touched the horse with his foot and was gone. (To be concluded H tl January number)