BUTTERFLIES OF MT. HOOD 149 



Rockies directly from the Swiss Alps. He and 

 the guide arrived at the top physically capable 

 of looking at the scene; but the guide did not 

 care to look, climbing Hood being a business 

 with him ; and the professional climber (whose 

 business was breaking records) was too disgusted 

 at the wretched time he had made, tied up to us, 

 to look at anything, and was for starting down 

 at once, alone if the guide would let him, to try 

 yet for a record round-trip. So here we were un- 

 done, indifferent, disgusted, while the kingdoms 

 of this world and the glory of them lay spread out 

 beneath us — and flitting round about us a host 

 of little butterflies. 



The day was clear and cool, with a stiff wind 

 blowing across the summit that made our teeth 

 chatter and sent us skulking behind the lumps 

 of slag to get out of its way. Long before we 

 reached the top heavy gaseous fumes began to 

 pour down upon us as the draft drew over the 

 rim of the crater. The wind seemed to clear them 

 from the immediate top, but, looking down into 

 the great pit, we could see a rising cloud of steam 

 that must have carried them in its vaporous folds 

 up out of the heated depths where the ancient 



