9 In the Pass

Will believed with Roka and Pehansan that the great buffalo plains of the far north lay beyond the lofty ranges that now confronted them. He remembered that the maps of America he had studied at school showed a sea of mountains along the Pacific coast extending far up into Alaska, and many of these mountains were known to be very high. Beyond question many of the peaks far overtopped those of Montana, Idaho and Washington, and he believed that the pass itself toward which they were going must be at least two miles above the sea level. The crossing they had made in coming from the smaller valley into the larger one was a light task compared with the mighty climb now before them. The Sioux were naturally a people of the plains, though small portions of them lived in the hills, but the members of the little band surveyed the formidable summits without fear.

They advanced two days without accident, though the path was surrounded with difficulties and dangers and their progress was slow, not yet taking them beyond the timber line. They encountered deep ravines which they crossed with infinite toil, and they came to several streams, every one flowing in a headlong current down the mountain and creating with its speed the white foam they had seen when they were far below.

Will admired these creeks, which he knew came from the glaciers and fields of snow high above, and, at one place where the ground was fairly level, they let down their lines, catching splendid mountain trout, much larger than usual and of a very delicate flavor. Will admired greatly their silvery beauty, and he was quite sure he and his comrades were the first human beings who had ever fished in those wild waters.

The space that sloped slightly did not extend many yards, but several of the young warriors were tempted, despite its coldness, to throw off their clothes and take a dip in the stream. Will was an inveterate bather, and, while primeval man was not particularly fastidious about his person, these mountain Sioux were neat and cleanly, and the young warriors like Will took keen delight in leaping and swimming in running water. Now they sought the deep places in the stream, and, fending off the cold with swift movements, felt exhilarating thrills, as they swam or floated on the current. Hoton in particular enjoyed himself.

“Behold me!” he called to Will, who was floating ten feet away. “As I am a great hunter so I am a great swimmer!”

“But I do not have to swim,” said Will. “I merely lie upon my back in the current and let it carry me where I wish to go.”

“And so can I,” said Hoton, grandly. “Whatsoever you can do on the land or in the water, Waditaka, that I can do also.”

He turned over on his back and floated peacefully with the stream. His violent exertion in swimming had fully counteracted the chill of the water, and his blood pulsed from his heart and back again in a pleasant and exhilarating current. It was very grateful to his tired muscles to lie thus at ease and to be borne swiftly. It was, in truth, the very poetry of motion to the son of the wilderness, and as he glided along he looked up at the great blue vault bending over him with such kindness and beauty and felt that he, Hoton, was the very incarnation of what he boasted himself to be. the flower and quintessence of the Sioux nation. He heard shouts from his comrades, but they only increased his satisfaction. They were shouts of admiration. Inmu, Waditaka and all the others were acknowledging vocally his wonderful skill in floating, without apparent effort, on the surface of a swift mountain stream. They saw his superiority and admitted it.

The shouts increased and the spirit of Hoton was fairly bathed in contentment. Seemingly he did not move a muscle. He was giving a most wonderful exhibition of floating. He knew that he was going fast, because, turning his head slightly on one side, he saw the bank receding at a great rate. He concluded that it was time to turn back. His demonstration had been sufficient. No member of Roka’s band would ever again claim to be his equal in swimming.

He shifted to his side with the intention of going across the current, when, to his amazement and horror he made no progress, but was still carried down the stream. Nor was the water around him any longer silver in color. Instead it was foaming into white, and, from the rocky banks on either side, great coils and gusts of foam were dashed back. There was a roaring in his ears, so loud that it made the shouts of his comrades sound like distant echoes.

He managed to raise his head somewhat higher out of water and saw a current, with himself in the very center of it, running like a mad torrent to an awful place where, in a cloud of foam, it dropped off into nothing. Great though his efforts were they availed him not. The element that surrounded him was liquid. It slipped off his bare body and eddied around it, but it enclosed him as fast as if he were held in a vise of steel. Had his strength been ten times what it was he would yet have been powerless in the mighty current that was racing to the edge of the fall. Then, like wise men who resign themselves to the inevitable when they know effort is vain, he commended his soul, in his primitive, but none the less noble fashion, to the great unknown Manitou, who is merciful as well as just. He drew in his body compactly, shut his eyes, and the next instant, while the great waters roared in his ears, took the fall.

He had first a sense of wild dashings, a long, breathless falling as if from the clouds to the earth, a tremendous period of submergence followed by buffetings, and then, opening his eyes, he looked benevolently at Inmu, Waditaka, Tarinca and Capa who were working over him with all diligence. They were rubbing his hands and his chest, and they looked anxious, but the brave Hoton only smiled to himself. He would soon calm their apprehensions. He was not hurt. He had not really been unconscious. It was merely a little trick of his to heighten the effect of a great deed. He had often seen the medicine men with certain dramatic touches make an achievement appear all the more wonderful. These comrades of his, brave and daring though they were, would have to admit that they could not shoot a great waterfall as he, Hoton, the incomparable, had done.

“It is enough, my friends,” he said, sitting up. “I thank you for your care, but Hoton, the great swimmer, does not need it.”

“You are alive then!” exclaimed Capa. “Wicanagi (the soul) was not dashed out of you by the terrible waters?”

Hoton turned upon him a gaze that was majestic and reproving, though not unkind. Capa was very young, but he was always willing to learn.

“Capa,” said he in grave tones, “why should you think the soul had left my body? Often after achieving a mighty task I lie down and rest. It is the way of great warriors. Did you spring into the waters after me, and Waditaka and Inmu and Tarinca with you? I see that you did, but it does credit to the goodness of your hearts, not to your judgment. And perhaps I, too, am a little to blame. I should have told you before that I always shoot a high fall this way. I put my feet close together, my hands by my side, lift up my head a little that I may not be drowned in the foam, shut my eyes to keep them dry, and then go over like a great salmon. It is easy—that is, for me.”

“You are a great swimmer, Hoton, but your mind is yet greater,” said Will admiringly. “Farther on there is another fall higher than the one down which you came. We would see you shoot that also!”

Hoton rose to his feet and gave Will a lofty stare of disdain.

“Waditaka,” he said, “when you are older you will know more. Understand then that a great man shows only once how a thing should be done. If those who see it do not learn, then it is their fault. One fall in one day is enough.”

He walked in stately fashion back up the bank, Noticing the fall out of the corner of his eye. It was really a high fall, and he wondered that he had come out of it alive. But then, Manitou was good to the deserving and he was grateful. Roka and Pehansan were sitting on the plateau above, and they welcomed Hoton’s return with grave smiles.

“We are glad to see you back, Hoton,” said Roka.

“I had no intention of staying away,” replied the Crow. “I am attached to you, O, Roka, wise leader, and to all my comrades. Nor do I wish to cross the great mountains alone. The young warriors will need my advice and example.”

“That is true, Hoton. Perhaps when we pass the crest we will find streams on the other side down which we can shoot even as you have done here, with Hoton himself leading us. It will save time.”

“I am not one to dispute the word of the wise Roka,” said Hoton, bowing low. Nevertheless he was willing to sit a long time by the fire, as he found some soreness in his muscles.

That night the snow fell again and they retreated deep into the scrub timber, where they built a new fire, and, wrapped well, lay beside it, listening to the roaring of the wind, which at that height had many voices, all high and shrill.

“The winds warn us to go back,” said Inmu, after listening a long time. “They are hostile. The evil spirits ride on their edge and shout at us. They say that men have not been on these mountains before and that they cannot cross them. They threaten us with great suffering and final death if we go on.”

“Are you in favor of going back, Inmu?” asked Will, knowing well what the answer would be.

“As we have fought the wild animals, so will we fight the winds,” replied the Lynx.

“I knew you felt that way and so do all the others.”

The winds died presently, as if, having given their warning to the foolish human beings who scorned to heed it, they refused to say more, and the still air became intensely clear. The peaks, now that they had come nearer, seemed to increase in height, the white crests piercing the blue void. All the ten had a sense of awe, which, however, had in it no tincture of fear. The white peaks were a line of majestic sentinels guarding their promised land and they seemed to offer a challenge to those who could to pass them.

They climbed a steep slope and stood upon a shelf of stone to rest. The mountains towered above them as high as ever, and apparently they had made no progress, so little was the distance they had come compared with that which they had yet to go.

“Look!” said Will, who had turned and who was gazing back into the valley.

Far in the southwestern corner the edge of a gray shield was appearing above the horizon. Higher and higher it rose, and broader and broader grew the dark circle. Then a flash of light burst from the center and a low sound, almost like the moan of a distant ocean, came to them.

“A great storm!” said Roka. “It will sweep over the valley but it will not touch us!”

Will, always interested in the mighty manifestations of nature, watched from above while the air in the valley darkened. He had often gazed at storms from below but seldom from above, and now he found the gathering of elemental forces unspeakably majestic. The thunder, at first only a groaning on that dim horizon, began to rumble heavily, and the gorges of the mountains all about gave it back in many sinister echoes. The clouds increased, the green in the valley narrowed until it was only a strip and then it was gone altogether. Banks and columns of white vapor floated along the edges of the clouds, but at their center, where they were darkest, the lightning shot in long, flaming streaks, red, or blue, or white, but intensely vivid in any hue.

“It is a mighty storm, and it passes almost at our feet,” said Roka.

“As if to prove to us how tremendous nature can be,” said Will.

“The storm knows us not,” said Roka. “In its presence we are but flies on the mountain side, no, we are nothing. Think, Waditaka, that storms may have been occurring here for thousands of years and that we may be the first men who have ever seen one of them! It does not matter to the Storm God whether we see or do not see.”

“The storm has many spirits besides the great Storm God himself,” said the pious Tarinca, “and most of them are good.”

“Perhaps the good spirits and evil spirits fight together in the clouds,” said Inmu, “and they hurl the thunderbolts and the lightning at one another. We think ourselves warriors, but it is not for mortal man to share in such mighty battles.”

They watched the storm more than an hour. When it reached its zenith the air was dark as night on the mountains, and nothing could be seen in the valley below save by the lightning stroke. The roll of the thunder was so great that the peaks and ridges seemed to shake, but the Sioux were not afraid. The storm was not concerned with them. It did not touch them. The good spirits and the evil spirits fought in the valley at their feet and passed them by.

“The good spirits win,” said Inmu. “The thunder sinks and the lightning dies!”

The clouds floated away with amazing rapidity. The lightning flashed for the last time, the thunder became a murmur and then nothing, the whole valley, vast and vivid, sprang out into the light, and there below them waved the great forest, deep green with the silver bands of its rivers cutting across it. The storm vanished as if it had never been.

“It was a great sight,” said Roka. “I am glad to have seen it.”

“And I,” said nine other voices all together.

“We have not been alone in watching the storm,” said Pehansan, pointing across a gorge. “Doubtless he has seen many such, because he goes about his business undisturbed.”

The gorge was three or four hundred yards across, and beyond it was an easy slope on which grew sparse and dwarfed vegetation. A huge brown bulk prowled among the bushes, digging for roots or ants. Will recognized at once the monstrous bear of the north, evidently in his own home, engaged in the chief business of his life, the pursuit of food.

“I wonder if he knows we are here,” he said.

“If he does, he does not care,” said Pehansan. “Like Tateyanpa (Wind) he thinks we cannot cross the mountains, but I will tell him we can.”

He made a hollow of his two hands, and shouted in loud, piercing tones:

“O Warankxi (Bear)! O Warankxi!”

The bear went on with his hunt for roots and grubs. Pehansan’s voice rose and carried far across the gorge.

“Warankxi! Warankxi!” he shouted. “Look up! Do not pretend that you do not see us or hear us! Your brethren in the valley and on the lower mountains said that we could not cross the mighty ranges and reach the great buffalo grounds, but we have beaten them every time we met them! Look up! Look up, Warankxi, and behold your masters!”

The bear could not ignore that fierce summons, which was at once a taunt and a challenge. He raised his head and Will knew by the wrinkling of his lips that he was growling.

“What is he saying?” he asked of the imaginative Inmu. “Does a good spirit bring you his words through the air?”

“He tells us that he accepts our challenge,” replied the Lynx. “He says that no man has ever yet crossed these mountains, and that his tribe is here to see that we also fail. He adds, too, that the wolves, the panthers and all the great animals also are on watch. See, he rises on his hind legs and stands up like a man, shaking his fore paws at us!”

The monstrous bulk of Warankxi was upreared and it seemed to Will, imaginative like Inmu, that he had made a threatening gesture intended directly for them. Presently he lowered himself, but without haste, and shambled away.

“We do not fear him,” said Pehansan, “but we know we shall have to fight him. And now look, Wanmdi, the bird after which you are named, is watching us too!”

A dark speck appeared in the blue arch, enlarged rapidly, and then shot down with amazing rapidity. A few hundred yards above them it sheered away, crossed the gorge and alighted on a blasted stump near where the bear had stood, its beaked head and great wings quivering slightly, as if in menace.

“It doubles the eagle of the south in size,” said Roka. “I think it could carry away a young goat or a young mountain sheep in its talons. I should not care to meet it on these heights without my bow and arrows. Speak to your brother, Wanmdi.”

The young warrior, whose name meant the eagle, made a trumpet of his hollowed hands as Pehansan had done and shouted across the chasm:

“O Wanmdi, you sit there on the blasted stump and threaten us, but we are not afraid! Though I bear your name I am man, and you are not, and I am your master! Your beak and talons are great and sharp, but my arrows are sharper. I, Wanmdi, whose name is the same as yours, have come to cross your mountains, and you cannot stop me! Leave your stump, come near and my arrow will tell you how much greater my power is than yours!”

The eagle rose from the stump, spread his wings and circled high above the heads of the ten, saying very plainly that he accepted the challenge.

“May I let fly an arrow at him, Roka?” said Wanmdi.

“Yes, Wanmdi,” replied the wise leader, “but the mark is too difficult.”

Nevertheless the young warrior sent a shaft straight up at the hovering shadow, but the arrow, flying to a great height, came back and rang on the stone shelf beside them, where Wanmdi picked it up again. The sinister shadow hung over them a moment or two longer, and then the eagle flew slowly away toward a high peak.

“You did not hit him, Wanmdi,” said Roka, “but it was a good shot for so great a height. The arrow almost touched his wing. You said to him that while he could threaten we could strike. He will not forget it. Now, I think it would be well for us to build our fire on this shelf and pass the night here.”

The night was cold, but very bright, and in its silvery light the ranges and peaks seemed more tremendous than ever. Before any of them went to sleep they heard a long, melancholy cry come from a deep gorge. Roka turned to Hinyankaga (Owl), one of the youngest of the Sioux warriors.

“Wanmdi’s brother who, nevertheless, hates him, came to see him in the day,” he said, “and there, Hinyankaga, is yours calling to you in the night.”

Hinyankaga, noted for his high spirits, replied:

“If I may, O wise Roka, I will talk with my brother, who does not like me any more than Wanmdi’s brother liked him.”

“Talk as much as you wish.”

Hinyankaga pursed his lips and uttered a hoot so piercing and of such wailing quality that Will, who sat beside him, was startled. The mournful lament passed in echoes through the mountains and died. Back from the gorge came the hoot of the real owl and Hinyankaga rejoiced. For several moments they talked together, wail for wail, and their voices had many inflections, now rising in anger, and then sinking in lament.

“What were you saying, Hinyankaga?” asked Roka, when they ceased.

“Nothing that was friendly,” replied the happy youth. “Like the bear and the eagle the owl warned us, he told me these mountains belonged to the great animals and the great birds, and that we must turn back or our bones would lie to eternity frozen in the ice of the lofty peaks. I told him we would go where the wise Roka led, and that he meant to lead us over the pass.”

“Manitou himself makes no threat against us,” said Roka, “and so long as he does not we need not fear the menace of the animals.”

Although the air at that height was quite cold, the young warriors felt snug and comfortable as they lay in their robes before the fire. The scrub pines extended for some distance up the slope, and, as usual in those undisturbed regions, plenty of dead wood was lying about. Now and then, when someone brought a fresh bole or trunk and threw it on the bed of coals, a bright blaze sprang up and the area of light widened. It was Will’s turn after a while to fetch wood, and he went twenty or thirty yards along the slope, where the little pines grew in a dense cluster. He found what he wished and was turning back with his burden when his attention was attracted by a light rustling, a faint sound, not much more than that made by two leaves rubbing together.

Will, gazing into the depths of the pines, from which the light noise had come, saw two red sparks, and as he continued to gaze with the greatest intensity, he traced the outline of a large and menacing form. Then he knew that the red sparks were eyes. Although he could not see it clearly, he felt instinctively that this was the king wolf, still following them, and, with a tenacity that was more human than animal, meaning to follow them to the end.

He was not afraid. Although his bow and quiver were left by the fire, the loaded revolver was in his belt and it was sufficient to meet a rush. But he did not believe the king wolf meant to attack. Instead, he was there to watch and threaten. He was too wise, even had the chance offered, to spring upon Will with the others so near, and the lad, standing stiffly erect and motionless, stared at him with the human eyes that are so much more compelling than those of the beast.

A kind of pride possessed Will. He had at that moment a great feeling of power. In the long duel between him and the king wolf he had been victorious so far, and he believed that he would continue triumphant. The eyes of the wolf were fierce and burning. They seemed red, then yellow, then green, like those of a panther, casting off sparks of malice and menace. But Will was exalted by his pride in being human. He was superior to any wolf or to any animal, no matter how large and fierce. He felt his figure swell and grow more powerful. He took a step forward. Nor did his hand go to his revolver. Instead, both, empty, swung by his side. But the great wolf, daunted by that human gaze, fixed and fearless, gave back. The eyes, red and yellow and green, with changing lights, shifted from his and became irresolute. He advanced another step, never relaxing that relentless gaze. The eyes of the wolf shifted again, he uttered a low, uneasy growl, and, turning suddenly, slid away among the bushes.

Will, triumphant, still stood stiffly erect, but a cold sweat broke out on his face, and then he felt limp and relaxed. It required a great effort of his will to keep his figure from sagging, but he managed to hold himself together, and, going back, he cast the pine bole on the fire.

The dry wood flamed up the moment it touched the bed of coals, and blazed across Will’s face, revealing a great pallor which did not escape the sharp eyes of Roka.

“What has happened to you, Waditaka?” he asked. “All the blood has left your face.”

Will laughed nervously.

“I saw our old friend in the bushes,” he replied.

“What old friend?”

“One that has followed us, one that I know is possessed by a demon, and is bent upon our destruction.”

“The king wolf?”

“None other, O wise Roka. I saw his red eyes in the dusk and stared into them. It was not because of any courage or greater hardihood of mine, but because I was a human being, that I at last stared him down. He went away, but I know that he and his pack will always be near us, waiting their chance.”

“I was sure that it would be so, Waditaka. They will go with us over the mountains. But we will not fear them so long as our eyes watch and our arrows are sharp.”

Soon all slept but Roka and Pehansan, and they sat long, making a strong rope of knotted strips of rawhide, which they felt sure they would need before they climbed much farther on the slopes. In the morning they set out in a day that bade fair to be clear, but, before it was two hours old, a cold, drizzling rain began to fall. Nevertheless, they did not allow their spirits to be depressed, although danger was added to discomfort. The narrow ways became slippery, and, now and then, they were compelled to pass with much caution along the edges of great gulfs. But as they were not yet beyond the range of dwarfed timber, they were aided most of the time by the bushes, although the rawhide rope was put to good service.

The test, however, was severe. The chilly water soaked through their leggings and moccasins, and their muscles began to ache from the steep climb. Despite every effort spirits would flag, but the indomitable Hoton cheered them anew.

“The big white peaks ahead are nodding to one another,” he said, “and they are saying: ‘Lo, the band of Roka comes! His warriors are brave and at any time they would gladly fight other warriors who should try to bar their way, but they cannot forever fight snow and ice, and bitter rain! Their wills would grow weak if they did not have with them Hoton, Hoton the bold, Hoton the wise! However high we may be, although our crests touch the top of the sky, he will climb over us!’”

Thus the valiant boaster chanted as he went along and his chant was uplifting. The air grew colder and the rain turned to hail. The wind rose and, moaning and shrieking around the peaks and through the gorges, it sent the rain in gusts like the spraying of shot into the faces of the ten. But the warriors, bending their heads to the blast, went on, and above all the lash of wind and rain rose the mighty voice of Hoton in his brave chant:

It was a gallant song, because they were not now facing wild beasts, but the fierce spirits of the high mountains, over which they had no control, wind, hail, snow and ice, which they could not conquer with weapons, only with deathless souls. The hail began to beat so fiercely that they were compelled to protect their eyes with their uplifted arms, and they moved very slowly over their slippery footing, lest they be hurled into fathomless gulfs below. But always the mighty voice of Hoton boomed out, chanting his bold song, and the others joined with will and power in the chorus:

And on they went, in spite of all the elements that were conspiring to drive them back. There might have been passes, lower and wider and safer, but they knew them not, and they climbed along the best path their eyes had shown to them. Luck favored them in one respect, as they were not yet beyond the timber line, though very near. Little evergreens grew here and there in crevices between the stones, where a few inches of soil was lodged, thrusting up brave heads only a foot or two but often thick of stem, and they made a welcome hold to the climbers.

At far intervals the gusts of hail ceased for a full minute or more and they caught glimpses to the south of great, deep valleys set close with tall timber, but as well as they could judge these valleys were like bowls without any visible outlet. All around them circled the high, white peaks.

“We must look for some place in which to pass the night,” said the wise Roka to Pehansan. “Our young warriors are brave and enduring and will try everything we bid them do, but we must save them as much as we can.”

“We may find some shelter in the cliffs,” said Pehansan. “Stone mountains are always full of hollows and caves.”

“If we find one, we must retreat into it and lie by until the hail passes.”

But it was a full two hours before they found a cleft in the rock big enough for their purpose, running back eight or ten feet, and, with the floor sloping outward in such fashion that melting snow or hail would not enter. It was crude and rough, but in the dim past myriads of men had probably slept in shelter no better, and with thanks to the good spirits, they drew into it. The floor was rough and the roof was so low they had to bend, but no matter how the wind shifted the hail could not reach them at the far end, and they crouched there, wrapped in their robes, until the numbness departed from their bodies.

Then they ventured forth, and managed to gather a little timber, just a little, because the vegetation ceased entirely a few hundred yards farther on, and managed, with great skill and infinite pains, to build a small fire in the hollow. The smoke from it would have troubled them at an ordinary time, but they did not mind it now, and hovered over the low flames, rejoicing in the grateful heat. Then up rose the voice of Hoton once more in his defiant song, and all the warriors, even the wise Roka and the tall Pehansan, joined in the chorus:

Their voices thundered in the narrow cave and a deep gorge somewhere gave back an echo that they heard above the swish of hail and moan of wind. The soul of Will leaped within him.

“It is our voices triumphant over everything,” he said. “It is a sign. The good spirits have willed that we shall be victorious over all.”

“Those triumph who refuse to be put down, and the good spirits are always on their side, Waditaka,” said Roka. “Now we are all warmed well and we will put out the fire, because there is but little wood and we do not know how long we shall have to stay here.”

Several of the young warriors would have liked to keep the fire burning, not alone for the heat but for the courage that was to be drawn from the light of the flames, but the commands of Roka were to be obeyed, and they extinguished the coals. Then, crouched close once more, and wrapped thoroughly, they listened to the tales of the valiant boaster. Hoton never talked better. The legends of the warlike Dakota nation, passed on from father to son through the generations, had been caught by his vivid mind and stored in his retentive memory. Now he told of mighty hunting expeditions and of great battles with other tribes before the white man came. Outside the swish and rattle of the hail gave place to a softer sound, and Roka, going to the entrance of the hollow, announced that the hail had given way to snow.

“It is well,” said Pehansan. “The snow is not so treacherous. With it under our feet our heads will not be where our feet were a moment before.”

“And on mountain heights a fall is dangerous,” said Roka. “A warrior who goes down never knows where he will stop.”

They had warmed food over the coals before they put them out, and after a while they ate supper, having decided to remain in the cave until the next day, as Roka and Pehansan agreed that it was dangerous to venture forth while the snow was driving so hard.

After supper Will dozed. Shelter, food and warmth kept him in a happy frame of mind. Now and then he roused himself to listen to Hoton, whose tongue ran on pleasantly like the murmur of a river, but the intervals between such moments of consciousness grew further apart, and at last he slept. The next morning they found the snow banked high before the mouth of the cave, but they broke a way through it, and looked upon a world clothed everywhere in gleaming white.

Roka sent the warriors in different directions to seek a good path up the slope, everyone carrying, as always, his blankets and full complement of weapons. Will and Inmu turned to the left and went along the slope. But when they came to a vast rock with a path on either side they separated, one on each side.

Will was not far from the edge, and, by leaning a little, though he did not dare much, he saw the mighty valley far below and white domes which he knew were snow on the lofty tops of the evergreens. It made him dizzy to stare into the gulf, and leaning back the other way he continued to pick his path with great caution. Then he felt something tremble, but at first he believed the effect to be purely mental. His nerves had been shaken by looking into the great depths, and, steadying himself, he took two more steps forward. The shaking came again. The snow beneath his feet began to yield, a terrible fear shot through him, the whole bank on which he stood gave way and slid down the mountain. There was a mighty roaring, a white flood poured over him, he had a sense of falling into infinity and then he became unconscious.

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