236 Hunting Trips on the Prairie 



limbs of the pines stood out like rigid bars of iron. 

 Walking off out of sight of the circle of fire light, 

 among the tall crags, the place seemed almost as 

 unreal as if we had been in fairyland. The flood of 

 clear moonlight turned the white faces of the cliffs 

 and the grounds between them into shining silver, 

 against which the pines showed dark and sombre, 

 while the intensely black shadows of the buttes took 

 on forms that were grimly fantastic. Every cave 

 or cranny in the crags looked so black that it seemed 

 almost to be thrown out from the surface, and when 

 the branches of the trees moved, the bright moon- 

 light danced on the ground as if it were a sheet of 

 molten metal. Neither in shape nor in color did our 

 surroundings seem to belong to the dull gray world 

 through which we had been traveling all day. 



But by next morning everything had changed. A 

 furious gale of wind was blowing, and we were 

 shrouded in a dense, drizzling mist, through which 

 at times the rain drove in level sheets. Now and 

 then the fog would blow away, and then would 

 come on thicker than ever; and when it began to 

 clear off a steady rain took its place, and the wind 

 increased to a regular hurricane. With its canvas 

 top on, the wagon would certainly have been blown 

 over if on open ground, and it was impossible to 

 start or keep a fire except under the sheltered lee 

 of the cliff. Moreover, the wind kept shifting, and 

 we had to shift, too, as fast as ever it started to blow 

 from a new quarter; and thus in the course of the 

 twenty-four hours we made a complete circle of the 



