318 



ARBORICULTURE 



Little patches of snow were lying in 

 sheltered spots, not light and flaky, 

 like new-fallen snow, but granulated, 

 hard packed, with twigs and cones 

 scattered over its surface and sinking 

 into it. The edges of these patches 

 were melting, and tiny streams issuing 

 from them, sank into the porous soil. 



After climbing for four hours we 

 reached an open space, bare of trees, 

 about half a mile long and nearly as 

 wide. This is called Horse Camp, and 

 is so named because parties who come 

 up from below, with a view to ascend- 

 ing the summit of the mountain, leave 

 their horses here while they climb the 

 rest of the way on foot. This was as 

 far as we intended to go. 



Much of the way on our upward 

 journey we had been in woods so thick 

 that we had obtained only occasional 

 glimpses of the summit of Mt. Shasta. 

 Now it stood out before us in startling 

 distinctness, nearer at hand, but still 

 towering far above us, barren, bleak, 

 with great fields of dazzling snow, 

 white in the midday sunshine, outlined 

 against the cloudless azure of the sky. 



In the open level of Horse Camp 

 were wild flowers, short of stem and 

 growing close to the ground, all unlike 

 those we had left so far below. We 

 had climbed from summer u]i to 

 spring, and these were the flowers of 

 a higher altitude, another season. 

 There were great patches of Alpine 

 phlox, blooming in such dense masses 

 that they resembled mats of delicate 

 blue and lavender stretched upon the 

 sandy soil. There were tiny red flow- 

 ers, and there were yellow violets. We 

 thought at once of Bryant's poem on 

 "The Yellow Violet ;" 



"And I have seen thee blossoming 

 Beside the snow bank's edges cpld." 



We were nearly ten thousand feet 

 above the sea, and miles of snow fields 

 stretched around us, but it was warm 

 in the sunshine, and flies, like ordinary 

 house flies, settled thicklv upon the 

 crumbs of lunch we threw awav. 



On the farther side of Horse Camp, 

 on a ridge where the fir trees made 

 their last stand, we unsaddled our 

 weary horses and sat down to rest. 



We were at timber line, but con- 

 trary to our expectation, the trees did 

 not dwindle to mere shrubs ; up to the 

 very last they were sturdy and vigor- 

 ous and of average size. They ceased 

 Tieir upward march with dignity and 

 stood like an advance column, await- 

 ing further orders. We were impressed 

 by the resemblance to an army advanc- 

 ing to scale a height. Here, on the 

 left flank, whole regiments supporting 

 each other in dense ranks, were march- 

 ing vigorously to the attack ; there, to 

 the right, was a reconnoitering party, 

 following each other in single file up 

 the ridge, while farther away, out of 

 a little canon, peered the head of a 

 solitary scout. 



And what is old Shasta doing while 

 these combined assaults are being 

 made on its stronghold? It has a way 

 to repel invaders, it has means of de- 

 fense, all its own, and cares little for 

 the details of this battle above the 

 clouds. 



Let me show you its artillery : Look 

 at this avalanche, three hundred feet 

 wide and fifty deep, with soil scattered 

 over its surface, and a terminal moraine 

 of uprooted and broken trees. It has 

 come down recently, for the trees, 

 some of them two feet through where 

 their trunk's are broken are yet green, 

 their branches yet unwithered. 



That tells the story of attack and 

 repulse ; the trees climbed upward for 

 many year-, the avalanche swept them 

 down in a few seconds. Trees, as well 

 as men, can make a gallant stand, can 

 lead a forlorn hope, can plant them- 

 selves in the "imminent deadly 

 breach." 



In sheltered ^•ales and sunny glades, 

 as they siand thickly, protecting each 

 other, they are like society ; but up 

 here on the wind-swept ridges of the 

 mountain, with storms around them 

 and avalanches ready to fall upon 

 them, thev are like heroes. 



