[Illustration: _Lake Elizabeth from Ptarmigan Pass, Glacier National
Park_]
Therefore, it became necessary, day after day, to take our boats off the
wagon-road and haul them along foot-trails none too good. The log of the
two boats is in itself a thrilling story. There were days and days
when the wagon was mired, when it stuck in the fords of streams or in
soft places on the trail. It was a land flotilla by day, and, with its
straw, a couch at night. And there came, toward the end of the journey,
that one nerve-racking day when, over a sixty-foot cliff down a
foot-trail, it was necessary to rope wagon, boats, and all, to get the
boats into the Flathead River.
But all this was before us then. We only knew it was summer, that the
days were warm and the nights cool, that the streams were full of trout,
that such things as telegraphs and telephones were falling far in our
rear, and that before us was the Big Adventure.
III
BRIDGE CREEK TO BOWMAN LAKE
The first night we camped at Bridge Creek on a river-flat. Beside us,
the creek rolled and foamed.
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