[Illustration: COPYRIGHT BY L. D. LINDSLEY
_Looking southeast from Cloudy Pass_]
And then, after all, while resting on the top of the world with our feet
hanging over, discussing dilated hearts, because I knew mine would never
go back to normal, to see a ptarmigan, and have Mr. Fred miss it because
he wanted to shoot its head neatly off!
Strange birds, those ptarmigan. Quite fearless of man, because they know
him not or his evil works, on alarm they have the faculty of almost
instantly obliterating themselves. I have seen a mother bird and her
babies, on an alarm, so hide themselves on a bare mountain-side that not
so much as a bit of feather could be seen. But unless frightened, they
will wander almost under the hunter's feet.
I dare say they do not know how very delicious they are, especially
after a diet of salt meat.
As we sat panting on Cloudy Pass, the sun rose over the cliff of the
great granite bowl. The peaks turned from red to yellow. It was
absolutely silent. No trees rustled in the morning air. There were no
trees. Only, here and there, a few stunted evergreens, two or three feet
high, had rooted on the rock and clung there, gnarled and twisted from
their winter struggles.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132