The misgivings of the old gentleman concern- 

 ing the wisdom of my move grew stronger when 

 he perceived how weak I was, as we proceeded 

 on mule-back up the slope of Sierra Blanca. The 

 ice blocked us at timber-line, and in his parting 

 handclasp I felt the hope and fear of a father 

 who sees his son go away into the world. He 

 appeared to realize that I was not only weak, 

 but that at any moment I might collapse. He 

 knew the heights were steep and stern, and that 

 in the twenty-odd miles to Fort Garland there 

 was neither house nor human being to help me. 

 Apparently he hoped that at the last moment I 

 would change my mind and turn back. 



Up the northern side of the peak I made my 

 way. Now and then it was necessary to cut a 

 few steps in the ice-plated steeps. The shoulder 

 of the peak across which I was to go was thir- 

 teen thousand feet above the sea, and in making 

 the last climb to this it was necessary to choose 

 between a precipitous ice-covered slope and an 

 extremely steep rock-slide, more correctly a 

 rock glacier. I picked my way up this with 

 the greatest caution. To start a rock avalanche 



"3 



