The San Francisco Peaks in April, 113 



and the mesa beyond to the snow-capped peak on which 

 I was now standing. 



Again I studied the outlook to the westward, noticing 

 for the first time a volcanic cone near the base of the 

 mountain, in the crater top of which was a little crystal- 

 blue lake. 



Seating myself in the sun on the east side of a large 

 rock, sheltering me from the strong, cold wind, I enjoyed 

 my remaining luncheon and looked out over the earth. 

 Never before in all my mountaineering had I seen so 

 wide an extent of the earth's surface and noted so varied 

 and numerous examples of the working forces of Nature, 

 volcanic action and erosion, with their evidences, — cones 

 and lava-fields, great plains and deep canons, timbered 

 regions and desert wastes. 



But the creeping shadows warned me of the flight of 

 time, and prudence suggested the start for the descent. 

 I set up my camera and made several exposures to the 

 north and east, and then, seeking new experiences, I con- 

 cluded not to retrace my steps, but to descend by a dif- 

 ferent route; so I made my way along the crest of the 

 mountain for half a mile to the southward and started 

 down the southwest spur of the mountain. At first all 

 went well, but on reaching the snow-fields below the 

 bare rock ridge, I found the surface softer and more 

 difficult to traverse than on the route I climbed. For 

 about a mile it lay from five to twenty-five feet deep. 

 However, I made my way slowly but safely until, in an 

 unthinking moment, I attempted a cross-cut through 

 some thick timber where the sun, succeeded by frost, 

 had not had opportunity to harden the surface, and soon 

 I sank over head and ears in the soft snow. My heavy 



