The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1883-11-29
The King Of the CANYON.

Driving square into the mountain, as
If human engineers had planned it and
human hands blasted and dug, is the
great, dark ravine called canyon. Its
| floor is of rock and bowlder, with, per-
haps, tiny stream trickling down. Its
sides are soil, and bush, anu rock and
gravel. Its roof is the heavens.
Stand here in the mouth and look up.
It is midday, and yet it is twilight around
you and above you can see stars
| twinkle. One falling from the cliffs
above would pass through thousand
feet of space before striking the rocky
bottom. You shudder at the thought,
and the awful stiffness about you brings
a chill
The canyon is grim. 1t may echo
your footsteps, but there is no squirrel
or chirp of bird If living things tread
this rocky path they leave no trace be-
hind. 1t would furnish quarters for a
thousand Indians ready to pounce down
upon the emigrant or prospector, but
the savage stands here and feels the
chains of awe clogging his footsteps.
This grimness awes him; this silence
makes him tremble.
Push forward few steps. The dark
ness deepens. Overhead the stars shine
brighter, and you can hear the drip of
water down the rugged and moss grown
rocks. The dark cell of the prison has
It's terrors, but the occupant feels that
he can almost reach out and touch the
sunny, bustling world around him.
There is nothing to bring awe or fear.
In this canyon it is ever night. 1t is
ever terrible in its silence 1t is ever
chilly in its grimness. The intruder
feels his heart jump and throb as he
thinks of the dangers that may be con-
cealed by the further darkness.
The miner never comes here. The
prospector looks in and hurries away.
The savage halts. wonders, and passes
on. 1t seems as if even wolf would
draw back from such retreat In the
hottest day of summer it is chilly here.
In the brightest sunlight the shadows
ever dance over the jagged rocks and
rugged cliffs. When earth rent herself
apart in some awful struggle and noun
tains were torn and scanned as they
rocked to and fro the canyon was made.
1t is one of the scars left behind by
which to read the history of ages ago.
Fifty steps further up. Now the
blackness of midnight surrounds us.
The trees, q thousand feet above our
heads, shade the chasm until the stars
are lost sight of. The grimness be-
comes a burden that you can feel, and
as current of wind sweeps through the
rocky defile you can hear groans, and
sighs and feel your blood run cold The
drip OF the water has life, but it weighs
upon you. In such stiffness that YOU
can count the beats of your own heart,
the drip! drip! drip! of the ice-water
trickling along the cliffs would drive
you insane in an hour.
Hark' Thunderi No! Beginning " it'll
low mutter, like the gathering of q
terrible storm, and swelling and grow
ing until The canyon seems to culver and
pebbles rattle down from above-it is
the King of the Canyon-the Grizzly!
Our footsteps have reached his ear-he
shifts the air with growls that mean
death. Two hundred feet beyond us in
the pitch darkness is the 9air of the
King. Nothing that lives and walks
can pass his toll-gate. Right there the
canyon narrows, and there is his home.
Llsteni How the rocks tremble under
that roari The scream of the whirlwind
sweeping over the prairie cannot stun
you like this. The King rises up and
moves about, and his feet fling the bones
OF his many victims against the rocks
and down the dark path. His eyes have
q baieful light, and he tears at the cliffs
with his long claws. He has the scent
but he cannot locate it. If he could-if
he does-Come away! The King of the
Canyon is at home and hungry. Detroit
Free Press.