The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1903-09-25
CHAPTER |.
THE FOOTHILLS COUNTRY.

Il WM lOND Tie SIGul plulllCo az
n in the shadow of the Rookie
%--aS4 lie the foothills. For 900 mile
CkxD the prairies spread themselve
out in vast level reaches, and then bt
gin to climb over softly rounde
mounds that ever grow higher an
sharper till, here and there, they brea
into jagged points and at last rest upo
the great bases of the mighty noun
aains. These rounded hills that joi
the prairies to the mountains form tn
foothill country. They extend TO
about a hundred miles only, but nj
other hundred miles of the great ives
are so full of interest and romance
The natural features Of the countr.
combine the beauties of prairie and O.
mountain scenery. There are valleys
so wide that the farther side melts int
the horizon, and uplands so vast al
to suggest the unbroken prairie. Nearer
the mountains the valleys dip deep anC
ever deeper till they narrow into can
yons through which mountain torrents
pour their blue gray waters from
glaciers that lie glistening between the
white peaks far away.
Here are the great ranges on which
feed herds of cattle and horses. Here
are the homes of the ranchmen, in
whose wild, free, lonely existence there
mingles much of the tragedy and
comedy the humor and pathos, that go
to make up the romance of life. Among
them are to be found the most enter
prising, the most daring, Of the peoples
of the old lands. The broken, the out
cast, the disappointed-these too have
found their way. to the ranches among
the foothills. A country it is whose
sunlit hills and shaded valleys reflect
themselves in the lives of its people,
for nowhere are the contrasts of light
and shade more wildly seen than in
the homes of the ranchmen of the AL
bertas.
The experiences of my life have con-
,firmed in me the orthodox conviction
that Providence sends his rain upon
the evil as upon the good; else | should
never have set my eyes upon the foot
hill country, nor touched its fascinating
life, nor come to know and love the
striking men of the foothill country
the dear old Pilot, as we came to call
him long afterward. My first year in
college closed in gloom. My guardian
was in despair. From this distance
of years pity him. Then l considered
him unnecessarily concerned about me
"a fussy old hem as one of the boys
suggested. The invitation from Jack
Dale, a distant cousin, to spend a sum- |
mer with him on his ranch in south
Alberta came in the nick of time.
was wild to go. Ny guardian hesitated
long, but no other solution of the prob
lem of my disposal Offering, he finally
agreed that l could not well get into
more trouble by going than by staying.
Hence it was that, in the early sum-
mer of one of the eighties, found my
self attached to a Hudson Bay COM
pany freight train, making our way
from little railway town in Montana |
toward the Canadian boundary.
Our train consisted of six wagons |
and fourteen yoke of oxen, with three |
cayuses, in charge of a French half |
breed and his son, lad of about six
teen. We made slow enough progress, |
but every hour of the long day, from
the dim, gray, misty light of dawn to
the soft glow Of shadowy evening, was
full of new delights to me. On the |
evening of the third day we reached |
the line Stopping Place, where Jack |
Dale met us. | remember well how my |
heart beat with admiration of the |
easy grace with which he sailed down |
upon us in the loose jointed cowboy |
style, swinging his own bronco and |
the little cayuse he was leading for me |
into the circle of the wagons, careless
of ropes and freight and other i'm
pedimenta. He flung himself off before
his bronco had come to stop and gave
me a grip that made me sure of my
welcome. 1t was years since he had
seen a man from home, and the eager
joy in his eyes told of long days and
nights of lonely yearning for the old
days and the old faces.
l came to understand this better aft
er my two years stay among these
hills that have a strange power on
some days to waken in a man longings
that make his heart grow sick. When
supper was over we gathered about the
little fire while Jack and the half
breed smoked and talked. lay on my
back looking up at the pale, steady
stars in the deep blue of the clOudless
sky and listened in fullness of con-
tented delight to the chat between Jack
and the driver Now and then | asked
a question, but not too often. 1t is a
listening silence that draws tales from
a western man, not veXing questions.
This much l had learned already from
my three days travel. So 1 lay and
and the tales of that night are
with the warm evening lights
and the pale stars and the thoughts Of
home that Jacks coming seemed to
bring.
Next morning before sunup we had
broken camp and were ready for our
fifty mile ride. There was a slight driZ-
zle of rain and, though rain and shine
were alike to him, Jack insisted that l
should wear my macintosh. This gar
ment was quite new and had a loose
cape which rustled as | moved toward
my cayuse. He was an ugly looking
little animal, with more white in his
eye than l cared to see. Altogether
did not draw toward him. Nor did he
to me, apparently. For as 1 took him
by the bride he snorted and sidled
about with great swiftness and stood I
facing me with his feet planted firmly
In front of him as if prepared to re-
ject overtures of any kind soever 1
tried to approach him with soothing
words, but he persistently backed away |
until we stood looking at each other