192 WAITING IN THE WILDERNESS 



was more like ice than snow. But there was not 

 enough ice to make a glacier nor was the rough 

 wooded slope steep enough for the ice and 

 snow to slide and run down. So there it lay, 

 lasting through many summers and getting 

 larger each year. It must have weighed a few 

 thousand tons. It was top-heavy and leaning 

 forward. If it fell to the east, down a slope it 

 would go; if it tumbled to the north, it would 

 plunge down a gully, then down a slope. But 

 whichever way it went a little more of spring 

 warmth and its icy moorings would release it. 

 A stream of water from a spring thaw on a warm 

 slope was undermining one corner. 



In crossing a canon to the cabin of a pros- 

 pector I looked back over my shoulder to see 

 that it was not starting as I began to descend the 

 slope. But the cabin which stood a stone's 

 throw from the bottom of the gully seemed safe 

 from snowslides. 



In the little log cabin the prospector and I 

 had a happy evening. We sat late by the sheet- 

 iron stove while I listened to his experiences with 

 bears, Indians, and snowslides. In Idaho he 

 had worked two years driving a tunnel into a 

 mountain side. All the wood burned during this 

 time was from a mass of forest wreckage brought 

 down by a slide. So big was the pile that all 

 he used made but little showing on it. 



