He had found the marks of the axe making
footholds. And soon afterward there was another halloo from below, and
the missing ones rode into sight. They were blithe and gay. They had
crossed the ice-field and had seen a view which they urged we should not
miss. But I had had enough view. All I wanted was the level earth. There
could be nothing after that flat enough to suit me.
Sliding, stumbling, falling, leading our scrambling horses, we got down
the wall on the other side. It was easier going, but slippery with
heather and that green moss of the mountains, which looks so tempting
but which gives neither foothold nor nourishment. Then, at last, the
pass.
It was thirty-six hours since our horses had had anything to eat. We had
had food and sleep, but during the entire night the poor animals had
been searching those rocky mountain-sides for food and failing to find
it. They stood in a dejected group, heads down, feet well braced to
support their weary bodies.
But last summer was not a normal one. Unusually heavy snowfalls the
winter before had been followed by a late, cold spring.
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