The
Pedlars Were Irish Yankees, And The Way In Which They "Traded"
Was As Amusing As "Sam Slick." They Not Only Wanted To "Swop" My
Pony, But To "Trade" My Watch.
They trade their souls, I know.
They displayed their wares for an hour with much dexterous
flattery and persuasiveness, but Mrs. Link was untemptable, and I
was only tempted into buying a handkerchief to keep the sun off.
There was another dispute about my route. It was the most
critical day of my journey. If a snowstorm came on, I might be
detained in the mountains for many weeks; but if I got through
the snow and reached the Denver wagon road, no detention would
signify much. The pedlars insisted that I could not get through,
for the road was not broken. Mrs. L. thought I could, and
advised me to try, so I saddled Birdie and rode away.
More than half of the day was far from enjoyable. The morning
was magnificent, but the light too dazzling, the sun too fierce.
As soon as I got out I felt as if I should drop off the horse.
My large handkerchief kept the sun from my neck, but the fierce
heat caused soul and sense, brain and eye, to reel. I never saw
or felt the like of it. I was at a height of 12,000 feet, where,
of course, the air was highly rarefied, and the snow was so pure
and dazzling that I was obliged to keep my eyes shut as much as
possible to avoid snow blindness. The sky was a different and
terribly fierce color; and when I caught a glimpse of the sun, he
was white and unwinking like a lime-ball light, yet threw off
wicked scintillations. I suffered so from nausea, exhaustion,
and pains from head to foot, that I felt as if I must lie down in
the snow. It may have been partly the early stage of soroche, or
mountain sickness. We plodded on for four hours, snow all round,
and nothing else to be seen but an ocean of glistening peaks
against that sky of infuriated blue. How I found my way I shall
never know, for the only marks on the snow were occasional
footprints of a man, and I had no means of knowing whether they
led in the direction I ought to take. Earlier, before the snow
became so deep, I passed the last great haunt of the magnificent
mountain bison, but, unfortunately, saw nothing but horns and
bones. Two months ago Mr. Link succeeded in separating a calf
from the herd, and has partially domesticated it. It is a very
ugly thing at seven months old, with a thick beard, and a short,
thick, dark mane on its heavy shoulders. It makes a loud grunt
like a pig. It can outrun their fastest horse, and it sometimes
leaps over the high fence of the corral, and takes all the milk
of five cows.
The snow grew seriously deep.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 97 of 144
Words from 50348 to 50851
of 74789
