than three score years ago destroyed by the Indians, doubtless for
firewood, but the snow had bidden what few traces of them time had not
destroyed, and they were passed unnoticed. The storm which raged all
the time we were here made progress slow, and it was not until the
morning of the tenth that we reached the end of the lake, where the
river, vastly increased in volume, poured out through a rapid.

Below Indian House Lake there were only a few short stretches of slack
water to relieve the pretty continuous rapids. The river wound in and
out, in and out, rushing on its tumultuous way amongst ever higher
mountains. There was no time to examine the rapids before we shot
them. We had to take our chances, and as we swung around every curve
we half expected to find before us a cataract that would hurl us to
destruction. The banks were often sheer from the water's edge, and
made landing difficult or even impossible. In one place for a dis-
tance of many miles the river had worn its way through the mountains,
leaving high, perpendicular walls of solid rock on either side,
forming a sort of canyon. In other places high bowlders, piled by
some giant force, formed fifty-foot high walls, which we had to scale
each night to make our camp. In the morning some peak in the blue
distance would be noted as a landmark. In a couple of hours we would
rush past it and mark another one, which, too, would soon be left
behind.

The rapids continued the characteristic of the river and were
terrific. Often it would seem that no canoe could ride the high,
white waves, or that we could not avoid the swirl of mighty cross-
current eddies, which would have swallowed up our canoe like a chip
had we got into them. There were rapids whose roar could be
distinctly heard for five or six miles. These we approached with the