IV 



A PERILOUS NIGHT ON SHASTA *S SUMMIT 



TOWARD the end of summer, after a light, 

 open winter, one may reach the summit of 

 Mount Shasta without passing over much 

 snow, by keeping on the crest of a long narrow 

 ridge, mostly bare, that extends from near the 

 camp-ground at the timber-line. But on my 

 first excursion to the summit the whole moun 

 tain, down to its low swelling base, was 

 smoothly laden with loose fresh snow, present 

 ing a most glorious mass of winter mountain 

 scenery, in the midst of which I scrambled and 

 reveled or lay snugly snowbound, enjoying 

 the fertile clouds and the snow-bloom in all 

 their growing, drifting grandeur. 



I had walked from Redding, sauntering lei 

 surely from station to station along the old 

 Oregon stage-road, the better to see the rocks 

 and plants, birds and people, by the way, trac 

 ing the rushing Sacramento to its fountains 

 around icy Shasta. The first rains had fallen 

 on the lowlands, and the first snows on the 

 mountains, and everything was fresh and 

 bracing, while an abundance of balmy sun 

 shine filled all the noonday hours. It was the 



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