Undaunted by the bared fangs of "huskies" a la Jack London, the glaring orbs of crouching timber wolves, the "heap big Injun" chiefs whittling with wicked knives before gewgawed teepees in full war regalia, a daring reporter penetrated the aboriginal forest of the Canadian Pacific Railway at the Sportsman's--Show in Mechanics Hall Guided by Bassaqua the squaw woman, he was on the trail of Thomas Edmonds Wilson, dean of Canadian guides, in whose honor a monument has been erected at Takakka Falls, Alberta.

They discovered the modern Natty Bumppo before the cage of a vicious looking animal whose atmospheric environment was suggestive of a certain odiferous animal beloved by no one.

"That is a fisher," he pointed out to his audience of one, "and is the greatest curiosity in the show. I can say that not one man in a million has seen one. It is first cousin to the mink, of the wolverine family, and vanishes like a flash when approached. Men who have lived in the bush for years have never seen one."

"Yes, I knew Sitting Bull," the tanned, "blue-eyed pathfinder continued when he of the scribbling race had withdrawn him to the more purified region of a tiny lake. "He was a big disappointment. After the battle of Big Horn, which he merely directed from the sidelines, he and his squad of squaw men fled over the border into the greed Canadian territory. Customer's men couldn't follow them, and although we didn't hanker for their presence we had to put up with it. I talked with Sitting Bull in conferences an found him to be a low and wily chief who was at sea, because of the American massacre."

Tom Wilson told of his trip to the foot of Mount Assiniboine, the so-called Matter horn of the Rockies. "With me was R. L. Barret of Harvard who has the distinction of being one of the first men to reach that region. He is a great traveler and pathfinder. One of our best guides in the Yoho is a Yale man. College men are not tenderfoots at all. More of them, however, should learn the glory of a gun, a fishing rod, a horse, and the famous Kickinghorse Trail from Banff Valley to the Yoho.

"There the tenderfoot doesn't step out daintily for breakfast. He has a lean, hungry look on his face after eating a half hour, and wants to know where the rest of the animal is after devouring a couple of pounds of beefsteak."

By this time the scrivener was so famished that the stuffed brown bears on the cliff overlooking the lake looked appetizing and as the Golden Rod Bassaqua was fondling a pet "huskey" instead of cooky savory moose chops he excused himself and headed for the nearest "hot dog" caravansary.