Calgary is a beautiful place on the slope of the foothills, at an elevation of about 3400 feet, rather cold in winter, but delightful in the summer and fall. On the out-ranch, however, where there was a lot of timber, the winged pests—mosquitoes, gnats, horse- and deer-flies—made work in the woods very trying, more especially the two latter, whose bite will draw blood every time. The surrounding country, especially out towards Fort McLeod, is full of immense sloughs, where the wild slough grass will often grow to a height of five feet, and as much as 1000 tons can be cut off a single slough. But haying is made hard work by the gnats and mosquitoes. It was while haying that I first saw a Calgary hailstorm. George Berney was running the hay-rack (which consists of an immense crate on wheels, so that it can be loaded and handled by one man) and I was raking, when, looking up, I saw terrible blue-black clouds rolling up the valley towards us, for all the world like Atlantic rollers. I shouted to George, lifted the rake, and headed for the house, about a mile away. By the time we had the horses safely in the stable and got over to the shack, the storm reached us. I have never seen its equal before or since. We could hear the roar of the hail long before it reached us, and when it did reach the clapboard roof it was deafening. One stone we measured was eight and a half inches in circumference, and seemed composed of about a dozen smaller ones congealed together. We had about twenty chickens killed; and some people lost heavily, losing even colts, calves, and pigs. The oat-crop, which was being harvested at the time, was so cut to bits and driven into the ground that not even straw was saved. My first experience in Calgary was with the mounted police, for as we stopped at the station three policemen boarded our tourist sleeping-car, and while one stood guard at each door, the third walked over to one of the seats, lifted the spring cushion, and pulled out from the recess underneath a 2½-gallon keg of whisky. He asked the porter if it was his, and then asked every passenger, but all denied any knowledge of it. It was then taken outside, the head knocked out, and the whisky emptied on the ground. Of course the police had received previous notice from some one, possibly the very man who had sold it and knew its destination.