So we
saddled up and went on again somewhat refreshed, for at least we were no
longer ravenous.
All the rest of that day we journeyed on up the grassy slopes, seeing no
man, although occasionally we heard the wild whistle which told us that
we were being watched by the Mountain savages. By sundown the character
of the country had changed, for the grass was replaced with rocks,
amongst which grew stunted firs. We had left the lower slopes and were
beginning to climb the Mountain itself.
The sun sank and we went on through the twilight. The twilight died
and we went on through the dark, our path lit only by the stars and the
faint radiance of the glowing pillar of smoke above the Peak, which
was reflected on to us from the mighty mantle of its snows. Forward we
toiled, whilst a few paces ahead of us walked our unwearying guide. If
she had seemed weird and inhuman before, now she appeared a very ghost,
as, clad in her graveyard white, upon which the faint light shimmered,
never speaking, never looking back, she glided on noiselessly between
the black rocks and the twisted, dark-green firs and junipers.
Soon we lost all count of the road. We turned this way and turned that
way, we passed an open patch and through the shadows of a grove, till at
length as the moon rose we entered a ravine, and following a path
that ran down it, came to a place which is best described as a large
amphitheatre cut by the hand of nature out of the rock of the Mountain.
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