When day dawned the clouds
were crawling slowly and becoming more massive, but gave no intimation
of immediate danger, and I pushed on faithfully, though holding myself
well in hand, ready to return to the timber; for it was easy to see that
the storm was not far off. The mountain rises ten thousand feet above
the general level of the country, in blank exposure to the deep upper
currents of the sky, and no labyrinth of peaks and canyons I had ever
been in seemed to me so dangerous as these immense slopes, bare against
the sky.

The frost was intense, and drifting snow dust made breathing at times
rather difficult. The snow was as dry as meal, and the finer particles
drifted freely, rising high in the air, while the larger portions of
the crystals rolled like sand. I frequently sank to my armpits between
buried blocks of loose lava, but generally only to my knees. When tired
with walking I still wallowed slowly upward on all fours. The steepness
of the slope--thirty-five degrees in some places--made any kind of
progress fatiguing, while small avalanches were being constantly set
in motion in the steepest places. But the bracing air and the sublime
beauty of the snowy expanse thrilled every nerve and made absolute
exhaustion impossible. I seemed to be walking and wallowing in a cloud;
but, holding steadily onward, by half-past ten o'clock I had gained the
highest summit.

I held my commanding foothold in the sky for two hours, gazing on the
glorious landscapes spread maplike around the immense horizon, and
tracing the outlines of the ancient lava-streams extending far into
the surrounding plains, and the pathways of vanished glaciers of which
Shasta had been the center. But, as I had left my coat in camp for the
sake of having my limbs free in climbing, I soon was cold. The wind
increased in violence, raising the snow in magnificent drifts that were
drawn out in the form of wavering banners blowing in the sun. Toward the
end of my stay a succession of small clouds struck against the summit
rocks like drifting icebergs, darkening the air as they passed, and
producing a chill as definite and sudden as if ice-water had been dashed
in my face. This is the kind of cloud in which snow-flowers grow, and I
turned and fled.

Finding that I was not closely pursued, I ventured to take time on the
way down for a visit to the head of the Whitney Glacier and the "Crater
Butte." After I had reached the end of the main summit ridge t