We had now to ascend the eastern slope of the Selkirk range. We are up by day-break. Although only the 4th of September, as usual in these mountain valleys, the morning was raw and cold. A heavy dew had fallen during the night. Breakfast was over at six, but our horses were missing. There was little pasture for them in the neighbourhood and they had strayed in search of food. George has been absent since day-break in search of them. He shortly returns with three horses less than our number. Those he has collected have to be taken across the river, and the only way of reaching the opposite bank is to make them swim the stream. The width is about 400 feet and the water is deep for three quarters of the distance. All animals swim, especially the horse, but to land on an opposite shore is not always easy. Such was the case in this instance, and some of the poor creatures, failing to make a landing, by instinct returned to the side whence they started, the strong current sweeping them a long distance down stream. The three lost horses are found. At last man and beast are on the Selkirk side of the river. We ourselves, and the _impedimenta_ are taken across by an old leaky boat built by the Moberly surveying party in 1871. By this time it is nine o’clock. It is no use crying over spilt milk; but time is now precious, and every hour lost is a mishap. I did not look complacently on our delay; there was, however, the satisfaction that we had overcome the difficulty. We hope after crossing the mountains before us to meet the Columbia in its southern course in about a week. We follow the rough and recently cut trail by the Beaver River itself, a large stream, passing through an open canyon for four or five miles. It is quite unnavigable. There are few places where it can be forded along the whole route. We proceed through a flat well-timbered valley over half a mile in width. There is a dense growth of cedar, spruce and cotton wood, and such magnificent cedar! Four feet and more in diameter. We have now an undergrowth which is the genuine flora of the Pacific slope. Everywhere the prickly aralia or devil’s club[G] and ferns and skunk cabbage[H] are to be seen, all of the rankest growth, on the low ground. There is no pasture for horses. Having had little to eat last night the poor animals look miserable and wearily wind their way through the woods up and down the ascents, while the voices of the drivers are constantly heard encouraging them.