Once it- was thought a rare achievement to make
the ascent of Mount Shasta ; now I find that almost
every summer some travellers and residents make
the ascent. This must not be undertaken, however,
when the arid sage brush plains of the east are
drawing the winds across from the sea. You would
at such a time be blown through the clouds like a
feather.
Two days only are required to make the crater from the ranches in Shasta valley at the north base of the mountain. The first day you ride through the dense forest a hard day s journey in deed up to the snow line, where you sleep, leave your horses, and with pike and staff confront the ice and snow.
I ascended this mountain the last time more than fifteen years ago. It was soon after I first returned to the Indians. I acted as guide for some travelling, solemn, self-important-looking missionaries in black clothes, spectacles and beaver hats. They gave me some tracts, and paid me for my services in prayers and sermons. The memories of the trip were so un pleasant that I never had courage or desire to undertake it again.
There is but one incident in it all that I have ever recalled with pleasure. I had come out of the forest like a shadow, timid, shrinking, sensitive, to these men : like an Indian, eager to lead them, to do them any service for some kind words, some sympathy, some recognition from these great, good
