I could
not find any hairpins. And I recalled a number of stories of the extreme
disagreeableness of bears when not shot in a vital spot.
With all our hurry, it was four o'clock when we were ready to start. No
sun was in sight, but already a faint rose-colored tint was on the tops
of the mountains. Whiskers raised a sleepy head and looked at us from
Dan's bed. We tiptoed through the camp and started.
We climbed. Then we climbed some more. Then we kept on climbing. Mr.
Fred led the way. He had the energy of a high-powered car and the
hopefulness of a pacifist. From ledge to ledge he scrambled, turning now
and then to wave an encouraging hand. It was not long before I ceased to
have strength to wave back. Hours went on. Five hundred feet, one
thousand feet, fifteen hundred feet above the lake. I confided to the
Head, between gasps, that I was dying. We had seen no living thing; we
continued to see no living thing. Two thousand feet, twenty-five hundred
feet. There was not enough air in the world to fill my collapsed lungs.
Once Mr. Fred found a track, and scurried off in a new direction.
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