THE WAxNDERER 95 



the supply of lichen and mosses growing on the 

 tundras did not. 



But for the foxes and the marmots, the explorer's 

 way was very lonely. The foxes did not fear the 

 strange new-comer in the least, and ran about their 

 earths on the honeycombed hillsides like rabbits 

 playing in a burrow. 



Walking slowly in his own peculiar, meditative, 

 slouching gait, into more and more exquisite scenes, 

 sleeping o' nights at altitudes to which no aspiring 

 moose had ever before ascended, the yearling began 

 to wonder whether his adventurous turn of mind 

 had not landed him into a position which, sooner or 

 later, must prove too much for his mountaineering 

 powers. He had qualms as to whether his feet 

 were formed for this sort of thing. The stones 

 hurt them cruelly, and he slipped often. The 

 bushes, too, showed signs of giving out. What 

 if he were presently faced with nothing but acres 

 of the thickly growing lichen his neck was much 

 too short to crop ! 



A tortuous purple-black gorge, whose walls at 

 times almost excluded the light, led on to a shining 

 glacier streaming down the mountain-side. 



The moose had never seen a glacier at such close 



