STEEP TRAILS 



where firewood was abundant, rolled myself in 

 my blankets, and went to sleep. 



Next morning, having slept little the night 

 before the ascent and being weary with climb- 

 ing after the excitement was over, I slept late. 

 Then, awaking suddenly, my eyes opened on 

 one of the most beautiful and sublime scenes 

 I ever enjoyed. A boundless wilderness of 

 storm-clouds of different degrees of ripeness 

 were congregated over all the lower landscape 

 for thousands of square miles, colored gray, 

 and purple, and pearl, and deep-glowing white, 

 amid which I seemed to be floating; while the 

 great white cone of the mountain above was all 

 aglow in the free, blazing sunshine. It seemed 

 not so much an ocean as a land of clouds 

 undulating hill and dale, smooth purple plains, 

 and silvery mountains of cumuli, range over 

 range, diversified with peak and dome and 

 hollow fully brought out in light and shade. 



I gazed enchanted, but cold gray masses, 

 drifting like dust on a wind-swept plain, began 

 to shut out the light, forerunners of the coming 

 storm I had been so anxiously watching. I 

 made haste to gather as much wood as possi- 

 ble, snugging it as a shelter around my bed. 

 The storm side of my blankets was fastened 

 down with stakes to reduce as much as possible 

 the sifting-in of drift and the danger of being 



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