A NIGHT ON SHASTA S SUMMIT 



without once rising to our feet. Mountaineers, 

 however, always find in themselves a reserve 

 of power after great exhaustion. It is a kind 

 of second life, available only in emergencies 

 like this; and, having proved its existence, I 

 had no great fear that either of us would fail, 

 though one of my arms was already benumbed 

 and hung powerless. 



At length, after the temperature was some 

 what mitigated on this memorable first of May, 

 we arose and began to struggle homeward. 

 Our frozen trousers could scarcely be made to 

 bend at the knee, and we waded the snow with 

 difficulty. The summit ridge was fortunately 

 wind-swept and nearly bare, so we were not 

 compelled to lift our feet high, and on reaching 

 the long home slopes laden with loose snow we 

 made rapid progress, sliding and shuffling and 

 pitching headlong, our feebleness accelerating 

 rather than diminishing our speed. When we 

 had descended some three thousand feet the 

 sunshine warmed our backs and we began to 

 revive. At 10 A.M. we reached the timber and 

 were safe. 



Half an hour later we heard Sisson shouting 

 down among the firs, coming with horses to 

 take us to the hotel. After breaking a trail 

 through the snow as far as possible he had tied 

 his animals and walked up. We had been so 

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