We wanted neither men nor houses. Stirring in us had
commenced that primeval call that comes to all now and then, the longing
to be alone with Mother Earth, savage, tender, calm old Mother Earth.
And yet we were still in touch with the world. For even here man had
intruded. Hanging to the cliff were the few buildings of a small mine
which sends out its ore by pack-pony. I had already begun to feel the
aloofness of the quiet places, so it was rather disconcerting to have a
miner with a patch over one eye come to the doorway of one of the
buildings and remark that he had read some of my political articles and
agreed with them most thoroughly.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY L. D. LINDSLEY
_Looking out of ice-cave, Lyman Glacier_]
That was a long day. We traveled from early morning until long after
late sundown. Up the switchback to a green plateau we went, meeting
our first ice there, and here again that miracle of the mountains,
meadow flowers and snow side by side.
Far behind us strung the pack-outfit, plodding doggedly along. From the
rim we could look back down that fire-swept valley toward Heart Lake and
the camp we had left.
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