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The Fraser River, below Yale.
one big safe lies partly buried in the roadway, where it has been for many years, together with a heap of costly mining machinery. The one house occupied is at the far end of the street and is used as a store by Chinamen. This is the only sign of life now remaining of what was formerly the principal street of a busy town. A somewhat similar aspect generally prevails throughout the present town, where old, empty houses are slowly falling to pieces; their available and movable parts, such as doors and windows or flooring are gradually being appropriated by any one contemplating improvements. You see facing you near the depot, where the train stops, a building with a hotel sign upon it; if you go up to it you find it empty and dismantled. One really well built frame house of several rooms, with brick fireplaces, standing upon a large, grassy lot, with apple trees and a small stream at the back, was offered for seventyfive dollars complete, or rather incomplete, as several doors and windows had already been annexed and carried off. Its situation upon bluff above the river entitled you to some wonderful views of river
and receding mountain ranges, and these views alone should be worth the rice asked.
Apart from its delightful environment of mountain, forest and river, one of the most potent charms of Yale lies in its absolute repose. Nothing seems to be doing; in fact, nothing is doing. A few trains pass through daily-one passenger train going east and one going west; these form apparently the only link with the outside world. For a few minutes there is a bit of a stir, the train stops on what forms the principal street, now carpeted with verdure of the softest green-the cows, ducks and chickens, who generally seem to own the main thoroughfare, have discreetly and deliberately retired into the background, the stationmaster, who also acts in many capacities as telegraph operator, freight agent, ticket clerk, etc., assumed a momentary importance. The store-keeper, who is also postmaster, is quite busy with his mail pouch, and the collection of his packages. The Gold Commissioner is pleased to lend an added dignity to the scene. A few old-time miners stand around, and some Chinamen and Indians gaze upon the scene
with a suggestion of faint interest. Perhaps a passenger or two alights, a bag of mail and a few parcels are handed out. Two or three Indian or Chinese children rush a small fruit business with the passengers, the train moves slowly on, and after the delivery of mail has taken place at the store, which function is generally attended by nearly the entire population, the usual air of repose descends once more upon the scene. Several points of wonderful scenic interest are easily reached from Yale. There is a trail following up Yale Creek to the falls, a short distance above the town, and thence westward over the mountain range, overlooking the Fraser Valley, through a great forest of cedars. This trail leads through an undergrowth of ferns and mosses, which can hardly be seen to such perfection outside of British Columbia. The view from the summit of the range, looking down upon the wind
ing Fraser River between the great hoary trunks and lichen-clothed branches of the forest trees, is one of the greatest beauty. The view extends beyond the Hope Mountains; to the southwest the river winds like a streak of silver far below, and the town of Yale lies nearly vertically, two thousand feet below.
About two miles up the canyon above Yale on the other side of the river is Siwash Creek, a very delightful and interesting spot. The canyon is crossed at a narrow spot by a steel cable, which supports a cradle upon runners, and here you can pull yourself across one of the wildest bits of water which is seething in the canyon below. It is to most people a rather novel sensation. to go through the air, apparently attached to a slender rope above such a roaring Niagara; rocky precipices. rise sheer above the water on both sides. Having crossed over there
is a trail leading up towards the head of Siwash Creek, to some placer and quartz mines, and another trail which leads along the bank of the Fraser River, partly over a terrific slide of enormous rocks, and winds along at the foot of precipices two thousand feet high, until the mouth of Siwash Creek is reached. Here is a plank, bridge over the creek, and you come to what was formerly an cld Indian settlement, but not entirely deserted and abandoned, except for a few Siwashes who visit the place during the fishing season.
Here, amid the trees and wild undergrowth, may be seen the remains of several large "Keek-Wiliee" houses, as well as some big caches placed high up in the trees; down by the water are the Indian fishing places and their shelters for drying the salmon, and near by are their old camping grounds. A few caves up in the rocks show signs of old occupation, and an extensive graveyard with many opened coffins shows that quite a large village existed here in times gone by. In the graveyard, under the trees, were lying several almost life-size figures of Indians; these were grotesquely carved out of cedar trees, and afterwards painted. At this part of the canyon the scenery becomes very wild and impressive, the mountains rise several thousand feet in height above the river, which, with its big whirlpools and mad rush, leaves a deep impression of force and grand
A short distance below Siwash Creek, are some deserted Indian houses, which do not seem to have been occupied for a considerable time. There are numerous fine apple and plum trees around, with apparently no one to gather the fruit, which was dropping off the trees at the time of our visit. The whole place was covered with an almost
impenetrable growth of weeds.
For some distance above Yale the old Cariboo road may be traversed, though in many places rock slides have obliterated it, and rendered it somewhat dangerous. It winds along the sides of the mountains in some places high above the railway, and thus offers very extensive views of the canyon gorges and the river below. Before the construction of the railway this road was the principal means of access to the gold mines of the Cariboo district and the far North, but since the railway has been in use the old road has been allowed to fall into disuse. This is to be regretted, since it would, if kept in repair, have formed such a delightful means of seeing some of the finer views of the matchles series of canyons a few miles above Yale. At present the only way to see them is to proceed along the railway track, which, although it is everything to be desired in the way of allowing one to get into intimate touch with the wild scenery around, yet in doing so presents a continual succession of somewhat nerve-racking experiences; long, dark tunnels to be passed through, and high trestle bridges to be crossed, through the tide beams of which may be seen the rush of waters far below and the roar of which prevents one from hearing any coming train. For twenty-three miles above Yale the scenery continues to be of the wildest description; the great river cuts its way through the mountain walls, here dashing against opposing masses of black cliffs, there broken by enormous piles of boulders, the waters meanwhile one surging mass of white foam, and the whole scene closed in by the varying contours of mountain forms here covered with forests of deepest green, which gradually pass into the purples and grays of the distance.
By Alma Martin Estabrook
HE was tired, was Lucy of the Hualapais, so tired that halfway along the trail she stopped, and loosening the band about her forehead, dropped her oya in the scant shade of a greasewood bush, and sitting down, dug her brown toes into the lavender sand.
Across the lava beds against the side of the mountain, her wickiup clung; the wickiup where Wielietopsi had brought her so many moons ago that neither he nor she had tried to reckon them; where the papooses had come, one, two, three, three, four, round and brown, into this world of desert and desolate hill-top; where life, slow-cycling and sluggish, centered for her, and where now the supper fire's gray blue smoke drifted hazily skyward, and where in the late afternoon sunlight she caught the gleam of her eldest daughter's gay blanket.
The limpid shallows of her eyes. reflected a shadow strange to them and over her face, scarcely less. scarcely less round than her papoose's, a line drew taut and cut.
She had come from the old chief,
Levy-Levy. And what he had told her had disturbed her usual serenity.
Presently she roused herself and went sturdily on. The wickiup faced the west. Its end was open, and there in the splendor of his brown baby nakedness, among skins and rags of myriad colors, with a scrap of blanket blazing somewhere back of him, sat in state the little Wielietopsi, blinking black eyes of defiance at the sun.
Wielietopsi, the first, lay not at full length on his pile of skins watching his squaw as she toiled up the hill with her burden. More sleeps ago than she could count on her work-blunted fingers, he had departed, suddenly, for the Hunting Ground of his fathers. But she thought not of his absence as she toiled homeward, nor as she chanically shared in the supper about the fire in the open. And after the papoose and the younger children had been put to early bed she called her daughter out with her.
They stood beside the corral of peeled cactus stalks, talking softly, standing close. The The wind came
over the lava-topped hills from the Bad Lands and fluttered their worn bandana blankets about their bare feet; Venus stared at them from the west; and over their troubled heads a beneficent moon beamed gloriously.
The spirit of Wielietopsi was not at peace. This Levy-Levy had made known to her. The old chief's sister, Salamadi, upon whom the restlessness of old age had settled, wandering on the hills by moonlight, had met him, and he had made known to her his sense of injury and resentment that no horses had been sent with him into that place where his fathers were all mounted.
Wielietopsi, in the flesh, had been held in little esteem, so little, indeed, that at his death no sacrifice in his behalf had been suggested; but in the spirit he commanded both awe and consideration.
Levy-Levy had plainly intimated to his squaw that his spirit must not be allowed to "yamma" about the hills.
But the little cactus corral held but one occupant-the stiff old gray horse who munched his feed and looked at them out of sleepy eyes. He represented a large part of their living and the only means of conveying the necessities to the wickiup perched so eyrie-like upon the ledge.
Leaning her bare arms on the top of the corral Wielietopsi's squaw looked over at the old horse with speculative eyes, and slowly shook a determined head.
The wind leaped over the lava beds and threw itself on the wickiup, shaking all its loose ends of shingles and flapping canvas. The hut was like a great grotesque rattle, seized suddenly and shaken with might, for the grim and whimsical satisfaction of the spirit of the roisterous night.
But she was not afraid of the wind. She knew it. To its lullaby, now fierce, now gentle, generations of her forbears had slept. Its whimsies and its vagaries troubled her not at all. What she feared was the intangible, the unknown. This visitor who would come stepping silently out of the world beyond her senses into the world of quickened pulses and acute heart beats.
And in the moment's seizure of panic and palsy she knew that he must be appeased.
Days of toil and sleeps of troubled weariness would not compare with sickening night moments like these. Fear of the man who was gone had always dominated her, and he was doubly fearsome to her now.
By the sky she knew it to be almost morning. The stars were gone but one. It hung, big and golden, squarely in the dome of heaven. And she lay down shivering, and drew her blankets close. The wind whipped her mane of hair across her face. Like the eyes of a child fastened on a bauble suspended above it, her eyes fixed themselves on the solitary star a little while. And then she slept.