It Had Probably Been Chased
Out Of Its Mountain Home By Wolves And Devoured Here.
I carried its
horns with me.
I saw many considerable depressions in the glacial
surface, also a pitlike hole, irregular, not like the ordinary wells
along the slope of the many small dirt-clad hillocks, faced to the
south. Now the sun is down and the sky is saffron yellow, blending
and fading into purple around to the south and north. It is a
curious experience to be lying in bed writing these notes, hummock
waves rising in every direction, their edges marking a multitude
of crevasses and pits, while all around the horizon rise peaks
innumerable of most intricate style of architecture. Solemnly
growling and grinding moulins contrast with the sweet low-voiced
whispering and warbling of a network of rills, singing like
water-ouzels, glinting, gliding with indescribable softness and
sweetness of voice. They are all around, one within a few feet of
my hard sled bed.
July 17. Another glorious cloudless day is dawning in yellow and
purple and soon the sun over the eastern peak will blot out the blue
peak shadows and make all the vast white ice prairie sparkle. I slept
well last night in the middle of the icy sea. The wind was cold but
my sleeping-bag enabled me to lie neither warm nor intolerably cold.
My three-months cough is gone. Strange that with such work and
exposure one should know nothing of sore throats and of what are
called colds.
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