It is fear
brought on by the immensity and the silence of the
mountains. A great horror of the vastness and ruggedness
came upon her. It was colossal, it was crushing, it was
nauseating.
She began to run. A mistake, that, when one is following a
mountain trail, at best an elusive thing. In five minutes
she had lost the trail. She stopped, and scolded herself
sternly, and looked about her. She saw the faint trail line
again, or thought she saw it, and made toward it, and found
it to be no trail at all. She knew that she must be not
more than an hour's walk from Timberline Cabin, and Albert
Edward, and his biscuits and tea. Why be frightened? It
was absurd. But she was frightened, horribly, harrowingly.
The great, grim rock masses seemed to be shaking with silent
laughter. She began to run again. She was very cold, and a
piercing wind had sprung up. She kept on walking, doggedly,
reasoning with herself quite calmly, and proud of her
calmness. Which proves how terrified she really was. Then
the snow came, not slowly, not gradually, but a blanket of
it, as it does come in the mountains, shutting off
everything.
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