In the afternoon we saw numerous fresh tracks of the bighorn, or “mouton gris,” the wild sheep of the Rocky Mountains,[9] and The Assiniboine and Cheadle scaled the steep sides of the mountains, which now closely shut in the valley, in pursuit. The rest passed on along a well-marked trail, which ascended abruptly, to avoid a precipitous cliff overhanging the river at this point. Higher and higher still it led them, along rocky ledges or up steep, green, slippery slopes, until it reached the point where vegetation ceased, separated by a rocky precipice from the height of perpetual snow. The horses frequently stopped, and tried to turn back from their arduous task, and Mr. O’B.’s steed, a powerful roan stallion, in high condition, coolly lay down and refused to proceed. Mr. O’B. slipped off with great celerity, remarking, “Poor fellow! my weight is too much for him.” The horse took advantage of the opportunity and began to descend, his owner remarking, indifferently, that it was no use attempting to fetch him, as he was far too exhausted to proceed further. Milton and the boy, however, speedily brought him back to the rest, and before long the utmost height was reached. We were now fairly in the Rocky Mountains, and even the woman and boy cried out, “Aiwakarken!” with delight and admiration at the magnificent scenery around. On every side a succession of peaks towered up, of strange fantastic shape. To the west, the Priest’s Rock, a pyramid of ice, shone brightly above a dark pine-clad hill; to the east, the remarkable Roche à Myette; in front and behind, conical, pinnacled, and rugged mountains. Hundreds of feet immediately beneath rushed the torrent of the Athabasca. Emerging from the heart of the mountains through a narrow gorge into the wider valley, the river expands into a lake three or four miles in length; then again narrowing, flows in several channels round wooded islands, to open out once more into a second lake, smaller than the first. On the further bank of the river, between the two lakes, they had the satisfaction of seeing, like a mere speck in the valley below, the little wooden building we had been so anxiously expecting to reach, for until it lay actually in view, it was very uncertain that we were really following the road to Jasper House, and not some mere hunter’s track into the mountains. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE HILL OPPOSITE JASPER HOUSE.--THE UPPER LAKE OF THE ATHABASCA RIVER AND PRIEST’S ROCK. (_See page 232._) ]