Over Harrison's Pass with Animals. 115 



OVER HARRISON'S PASS WITH ANIMALS. 

 By Robert D. Pike. 



The evening of July 3, 1901, found us near the 

 head of that large flat, snowy amphitheater where heads 

 the Kern. On the west of this amphitheater rise the lofty 

 peaks of the Great Western Divide; to the north the 

 pinnacles of the King's-Kern divide jut sharply out of 

 long slopes of snow into the dark blue sky, and, con- 

 trasted with the glistening white, look dark and forbid- 

 ding; on the east, rising above snow-slopes and rock 

 terraces, are the great peaks of the Sierra Crest. 



That day we had come from the meadows on Tyndall 

 Creek, where for two days our seven animals — four 

 horses and three donkeys — had been feeding on the short 

 but nourishing high mountain grass, preparing, all un- 

 wittingly, for the ordeal through which they were to pass. 

 We knew that they would be without feed for one night, 

 but none of us foresaw the additional hardships that were 

 to be their and our share. For the night we bivouacked 

 on one of the occasional granite islands that raise them- 

 selves out of the sea of snow. Ours supported a few 

 hardy alpine pines, which furnished good fuel, and quite 

 a level space of decomposed granite sand, which made 

 a comparatively soft bed. We picketed the animals near 

 our camp, and throughout the night the poor beasts were 

 restless with hunger and cold. 



We awoke before daybreak the next morning and 

 looked out on a frozen world. The thirteen shots which 



