Toward sundown, gasping as we 

 had done many times before, we 

 dropped on a far outjutting ledge 

 that split the heavens. Half of the 

 whole wide earth seemed spread 

 before us, valley after valley, 

 range upon range waved away in 

 purple shadows to the borderland 

 of spirit. The mountain chill gathered 

 as we looked and the warmth was 

 frozen out of the sky. It was over time 

 to be getting back to camp. My face 

 and hands were scratched, shoes in 

 ribbons, feet like boils, in fact not a 

 spot worth mentioning without its 

 scratch or bruise. There was small 

 chance of my making camp that night 

 if it had to be done on foot. This was 

 not hunting. It was suicide. 



Nimrod sent Sommers after the 

 horses, which he judged were not 

 more than a mile away, and designated 

 a spot at the foot of the ridge where 

 we would wait. A stream flowed 

 through it, bordered by the usual 

 strip of woods and we could see dimly 

 a bald place which meant a tiny 

 meadow, perhaps an acre in extent. 



Sommers started off. All very well, 

 but how was I to get there, or any- 



