It is well that nature sows seeds like a spendthrift. So many are the chances against the seed, so numerous are the destroying agencies, so few are the places in reach that are unoccupied, that perhaps not more than one seed in a million ever germinates, and hardly one tree in a thousand that starts to grow ever attains maturity. Through sheer force of numbers and continuous seed-scattering, the necessarily random methods of nature produce results; and where opportunity opens, trees promptly extend their holdings or reclaim a territory from which they have been driven.

Many times I have wandered through the coniferous forests in the mountains when the seeds were ripe and fluttering thick as snowflakes to the earth. Visiting ridges, slopes, and canons, I have watched the pines, firs, and spruces closing a year's busy, invisible activity by merrily strewing the air and the earth with their fruits,--seeding for the centuries to come. One breathless autumn day I looked up into the blue sky from the bottom of a canon. The golden air was as thickly filled with winged seeds as a perfect night with stars. A light local air-current made a milky way across this sky. Myriads of becalmed and suspended seeds were fixed stars. Some of the seeds, each with a filmy wing, hurried through elliptical orbits like comets as they settled to the earth; while innumerable others, as they came rotating down, were revolving through planetary orbits in this seed-sown field of s.p.a.ce. Now and then a number of cones on a fir tree collapsed and precipitated into s.p.a.ce a meteoric shower of slow-descending seeds and a hurried zigzag fall of heavier scales. Occasionally on a ridge-top a few of the lighter seeds would come floating upward through an air-chimney as though carried in an invisible smoke-column.

One windy day I crossed the mountains when a gale was driving millions of low-flying seeds before it. Away they swept down the slope, to whirl widely and flutter over the gulch where the wind-current dashed against the uprising mountain beyond. Most of the seeds were flung to the earth along the way or dropped in the bottom of the gulch; a few, however, were carried by the swift uprushing current up and across the mountain and at last scattered on the opposite side.

When the last seed of the year has fallen, how thickly the woodland regions are sown broadcast with seeds! Only a few of these will have landed in a hospitable place. The overwhelmingly majority fell in the water to drown or on rock ledges or other places to starve or wither.

The few fortunate enough to find unoccupied and fertile places will still have to reckon with devouring insects and animals. How different may be the environment of two seedlings sprung from seeds grown on the selfsame tree! On their commencement day two little atoms of life may be separated by the wind: one finds shelter and fertile earth; the other roots in a barely livable place on the cold, stormbeaten heights of timber-line. Both use their inherent energy and effort to the utmost. One becomes a forest monarch; the other a dwarf, uncouth and ugly.

In a Mountain Blizzard

In a Mountain Blizzard

At the close of one of our winter trips, my collie Scotch and I started across the continental divide of the Rocky Mountains in face of weather conditions that indicated a snowstorm or a blizzard before we could gain the other side. We had eaten the last of our food twenty-four hours before and could no longer wait for fair weather. So off we started to scale the snowy steeps of the cold, gray heights a thousand feet above. The mountains already were deeply snow-covered and it would have been a hard trip even without the discomforts and dangers of a storm.

I was on snowshoes and for a week we had been camping and tramping through the snowy forests and glacier meadows at the source of Grand River, two miles above the sea. The primeval Rocky Mountain forests are just as near to Nature's heart in winter as in summer. I had found so much to study and enjoy that the long distance from a food-supply, even when the last mouthful was eaten, had not aroused me to the seriousness of the situation. Scotch had not complained, and appeared to have the keenest collie interest in the tracks and trails, the scenes and silences away from the haunts of man. The snow lay seven feet deep, but by keeping in my snowshoe tracks Scotch easily followed me about. Our last camp was in the depths of an alpine forest at an alt.i.tude of ten thousand feet. Here, though zero weather prevailed, we were easily comfortable beside a fire under the protection of an overhanging cliff.

After a walk through woods the sun came blazing in our faces past the snow-piled crags on Long's Peak, and threw slender blue shadows of the spiry spruces far out in a white glacier meadow to meet us. Reentering the tall but open woods, we saw, down the long aisles and limb-arched avenues, a forest of tree columns, entangled in sunlight and shadow, standing on a snowy marble floor.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON GRAND RIVER, MIDDLE PARK, IN WINTER]

We were on the Pacific slope, and our plan was to cross the summit by the shortest way between timber-line and timber-line on the Atlantic side. This meant ascending a thousand feet, descending an equal distance, traveling five miles amid bleak, rugged environment.

Along the treeless, gradual ascent we started, realizing that the last steep icy climb would be dangerous and defiant. Most of the snow had slid from the steeper places, and much of the remainder had blown away. Over the unsheltered whole the wind was howling. For a time the sun shone dimly through the wind-driven snow-dust that rolled from the top of the range, but it disappeared early behind wild, windswept clouds.

After gaining a thousand feet of alt.i.tude through the friendly forest, we climbed out and up above the trees on a steep slope at timber-line.

This place, the farthest up for trees, was a picturesque, desolate place. The dwarfed, gnarled, storm-shaped trees amid enormous snow-drifts told of endless, and at times deadly, struggles of the trees with the elements. Most of the trees were buried, but here and there a leaning or a storm-distorted one bent bravely above the snows.

At last we were safely on a ridge and started merrily off, hoping to cover speedily the three miles of comparatively level plateau.

How the wind did blow! Up more than eleven thousand feet above the sea, with not a tree to steady or break, it had a royal sweep. The wind appeared to be putting forth its wildest efforts to blow us off the ridge. There being a broad way, I kept well from the edges. The wind came with a dash and heavy rush, first from one quarter, then from another. I was watchful and faced each rush firmly braced.

Generally, this preparedness saved me; but several times the wind apparently expanded or exploded beneath me, and, with an upward toss, I was flung among the icy rocks and crusted snows. Finally I took to dropping and lying flat whenever a violent gust came ripping among the crags.

There was an arctic barrenness to this alpine ridge,--not a house within miles, no trail, and here no tree could live to soften the sternness of the landscape or to cheer the traveler. The way was amid snowy piles, icy s.p.a.ces, and windswept crags.

The wind slackened and snow began to fall just as we were leaving the smooth plateau for the broken part of the divide. The next mile of way was badly cut to pieces with deep gorges from both sides of the ridge.

The inner ends of several of these broke through the centre of the ridge and extended beyond the ends of the gorges from the opposite side. This made the course a series of sharp, short zigzags.

We went forward in the flying snow. I could scarcely see, but felt that I could keep the way on the broken ridge between the numerous rents and canons. On snowy, icy ledges the wind took reckless liberties. I wanted to stop but dared not, for the cold was intense enough to freeze one in a few minutes.

Fearing that a snow-whirl might separate us, I fastened one end of my light, strong rope to Scotch's collar and the other end to my belt.

This proved to be fortunate for both, for while we were crossing an icy, though moderate, slope, a gust of wind swept me off my feet and started us sliding. It was not steep, but was so slippery I could not stop, nor see where the slope ended, and I grabbed in vain at the few icy projections. Scotch also lost his footing and was sliding and rolling about, and the wind was hurrying us along, when I threw myself flat and dug at the ice with fingers and toes. In the midst of my unsuccessful efforts we were brought to a sudden stop by the rope between us catching over a small rock-point that was thrust up through the ice. Around this in every direction was smooth, sloping ice; this, with the high wind, made me wonder for a moment how we were to get safely off the slope. The belt axe proved the means, for with it I reached out as far as I could and chopped a hole in the ice, while with the other hand I clung to the rock-point. Then, returning the axe to my belt, I caught hold in the chopped place and pulled myself forward, repeating this until on safe footing.

In oncoming darkness and whirling snow I had safely rounded the ends of two gorges and was hurrying forward over a comparatively level stretch, with the wind at my back boosting along. Scotch was running by my side and evidently was trusting me to guard against all dangers. This I tried to do. Suddenly, however, there came a fierce dash of wind and whirl of snow that hid everything. Instantly I flung myself flat, trying to stop quickly. Just as I did this I caught the strange, weird sound made by high wind as it sweeps across a canon, and at once realized that we were close to a storm-hidden gorge. I stopped against a rock, while Scotch slid in and was hauled back with the rope.

The gorge had been encountered between two out-thrusting side gorges, and between these in the darkness I had a cold time feeling my way out. At last I came to a cairn of stones which I recognized. The way had been missed by only a few yards, but this miss had been nearly fatal.

Not daring to hurry in the darkness in order to get warm, I was becoming colder every moment. I still had a stiff climb between me and the summit, with timber-line three rough miles beyond. To attempt to make it would probably result in freezing or tumbling into a gorge. At last I realized that I must stop and spend the night in a snow-drift.

Quickly kicking and trampling a trench in a loose drift, I placed my elk-skin sleeping-bag therein, thrust Scotch into the bag, and then squeezed into it myself.

I was almost congealed with cold. My first thought after warming up was to wonder why I had not earlier remembered the bag. Two in a bag would guarantee warmth, and with warmth a snow-drift on the crest of the continent would not be a bad place in which to lodge for the night.

The sounds of wind and snow beating upon the bag grew fainter and fainter as we were drifted and piled over with the latter. At the same time our temperature rose, and before long it was necessary to open the flap of the bag slightly for ventilation.

At last the sounds of the storm could barely be heard. Was the storm quieting down, or was its roar m.u.f.fled and lost in the deepening cover of snow, was the unimportant question occupying my thoughts when I fell asleep.

Scotch awakened me in trying to get out of the bag. It was morning.

Out we crawled, and, standing with only my head above the drift, I found the air still and saw a snowy mountain world all serene in the morning sun. I hastily adjusted sleeping-bag and snowshoes, and we set off for the final climb to the summit.

The final one hundred feet or so rose steep, jagged, and ice-covered before me. There was nothing to lay hold of; every point of vantage was plated and coated with non-prehensible ice. There appeared only one way to surmount this icy barrier and that was to chop toe and hand holes from the bottom to the top of this icy wall, which in places was close to vertical. Such a climb would not be especially difficult or dangerous for me, but could Scotch do it? He could hardly know how to place his feet in the holes or on the steps properly; nor could he realize that a slip or a misstep would mean a slide and a roll to death.

Leaving sleeping-bag and snowshoes with Scotch, I grasped my axe and chopped my way to the top and then went down and carried bag and snowshoes up. Returning for Scotch, I started him climbing just ahead of me, so that I could boost and encourage him. We had gained only a few feet when it became plain that sooner or later he would slip and bring disaster to both. We stopped and descended to the bottom for a new start.

Though the wind was again blowing a gale, I determined to carry him.

His weight was forty pounds, and he would make a top-heavy load and give the wind a good chance to upset my balance and tip me off the wall. But, as there appeared no other way, I threw him over my shoulder and started up.

Many times Scotch and I had been in ticklish places together, and more than once I had pulled him up rocky cliffs on which he could not find footing. Several times I had carried him over gulches on fallen logs that were too slippery for him. He was so trusting and so trained that he relaxed and never moved while in my arms or on my shoulder.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SNOW AND SHADOW]

Arriving at the place least steep, I stopped to transfer Scotch from one shoulder to the other. The wind was at its worst; its direction frequently changed and it alternately calmed and then came on like an explosion. For several seconds it had been roaring down the slope; bracing myself to withstand its force from this direction, I was about moving Scotch, when it suddenly shifted to one side and came with the force of a breaker. It threw me off my balance and tumbled me heavily against the icy slope.

Though my head struck solidly, Scotch came down beneath me and took most of the shock. Instantly we glanced off and began to slide swiftly. Fortunately I managed to get two fingers into one of the chopped holes and held fast. I clung to Scotch with one arm; we came to a stop, both saved. Scotch gave a yelp of pain when he fell beneath me, but he did not move. Had he made a jump or attempted to help himself, it is likely that both of us would have gone to the bottom of the slope.

Gripping Scotch with one hand and clinging to the icy hold with the other, I shuffled about until I got my feet into two holes in the icy wall. Standing in these and leaning against the ice, with the wind b.u.t.ting and dashing, I attempted the ticklish task of lifting Scotch again to my shoulder--and succeeded. A minute later we paused to breathe on the summit's icy ridge, between two oceans and amid seas of snowy peaks.

A Midget in Fur

A Midget in Fur

The Fremont squirrel is the most audacious and wide-awake of wild folk among whom I have lived. He appears to be ever up and doing, is intensely in earnest at all times and strongly inclined to take a serious view of things. Both the looks and manners of Mr. Fremont, _Sciurus fremonti_, proclaim for him a close relationship with the Douglas squirrel of California and the Pacific coast, the squirrel immortalized by John Muir.

His most popular name is "Pine Squirrel," and he is found through the pine and spruce forests of the Rocky Mountains and its spur ranges, between the foothills and timber-line; a vertical, or alt.i.tudinal, range of more than a mile. He a.s.sumes and a.s.serts ownership of the region occupied. If you invade his forests he will see you first and watch you closely. Often he does this with simple curiosity, but more often he is irritated by your presence and issues a chattering protest while you are still at long range. If you continue to approach after this proclamation, he may come down on a low limb near by and give you as torrential and as abusive a "cussing" as trespa.s.ser ever received from irate owner.

Yet he is most ridiculously small to do all that he threatens to do.

Of course he brags and bluffs, but these become admirable qualities in this little fellow who will ably, desperately defend his domain against heavy odds of size or numbers. Among the squirrels of the world he is one of the smallest. He is clad in gray and his coat perceptibly darkens in winter. His plumy tail, with a fringe of white hairs, is as airy as thistledown. He always appears clean and well-groomed.