CHAPTER IV 
PESANKA TO SCHAROK 
July 8.—No day in any country could possibly be 
more lovely than this. I might have been back in the 
mountains of California, when the sun is despoiling the 
snow, and the wind comes down the valleys so lightly 
that it scarcely stirs a leaf of the poplars to fright the 
black-tailed deer. This sense was often upon me during 
the day. But could I paint as became the subject you 
would have a very different scene from that. Long 
descriptions tire us all, but for once I should just like 
to try and set you down where we were now. So 
will you, for one moment, shut your eyes, and give 
yourself to me? 
Just behind us was a gorge filled with snow. Up this 
the sleighs had wound from the river to find the plateau 
where we were. But very soon on that northern side 
the hills dropt down, and there was the Pesanka coiling 
away over the plain in the sunlight like a beautiful 
glittering snake. And the wild geese went up along it 
from their feeding-grounds, and all about its edges small 
waders ran and fed. 
Our hill sank in front to the tundra itself; very grey at 
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