The skies were gray and sodden and
the air was moist. We stood round the camp-fire and ate our fried ham,
hot coffee, and biscuits. It was then that the Head, prompted by
sympathy, fed his horse the rain-soaked biscuit, the apple, the two
lumps of sugar, and the raw egg.
Yet, in spite of the weather, we were jubilant. The pack-train had come
through without the loss of a single horse. Again the impossible had
become possible. And that day was to see us out of the mountains and in
peaceful green valleys, where the horses could eat their fill.
The sun came out as we started. Had it not been for the horses, we
should have been entirely happy. But sympathy for them had become an
obsession. We rode slowly to save them; we walked when we could. It was
strange to go through that green wonderland and find not a leaf the
horses could eat. It was all moss, ferns, and evergreens.
From the semi-arid lands east of the Cascades to the rank vegetation of
the Pacific side was an extraordinary change. Trees grew to enormous
sizes. In addition to the great cedars, there were hemlocks fifteen and
eighteen feet in circumference.
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