lack and cooked so hard it nearly broke my teeth, besides, it had a
granite finish from association with the rock oven. But I ate it with
boyish relish in spite of its flaws. My imagination expanded as I
watched ghostly shadow-figures dance upon the face of the cliff. The
shifting flame, the wood smoke, the silent, starry night swelled my
heart to pride in my great adventure. I ignored the incident of the
animal cry that had sent me scurrying to camp. This first camp was
just below timberline, at an altitude of eleven thousand feet or more.

I had much to learn about altitude, as well as of winds and weather,
woods and mountains. In the mountains the higher one goes the harder
the wind blows. In the Rockies, around timberline, gales often reach a
velocity of a hundred miles, or more, an hour. Here during the long
alpine winters, the wind booms and crashes among the peaks, roars
through the passes, and rips through the shattered trees. That first
night I lay in camp and listened to its unceasing roar, as it tore
along the ridge tops. Occasionally, a gust would scatter my fire. It
raged through the spruces like a hurricane, causing me much uneasiness
lest one of the trees should come crashing down upon my frail shelter.
At last, after dozing before the dying fire, I went inside the tent,
crept between my blankets and fell asleep.

I was aiming at a charging grizzly, when there came a swishing, banging
crash! I sat up, half awake. The tent flapped wildly, lifting clear
of the ground. My stone cairns had been jerked down by the repeated
yanks of the stake ropes. A stronger gust, the tent went down, or
rather up, and vanished into the night. The spruce tree, which was my
tent pole, struck me on the head. I sat dazed. Gradually it came to
me that my clothes, as well as my tent, were gone. I realized, too,
that I had pitched camp on the wrong side of the little stream, for the
mischievous gusts, saturated with water from the falls, spat upon me
and soaked my blankets. I managed to strike a match, but the wind
snuffed it out instantly. I tried again and again to make a
light--with no success. I crawled dazedly about--I struggled
upright--my toe caught beneath a rock, and I pitched headlong. That
hour of darkness taught me never to venture about blindly.

The night was unbelievably cold. During the day, while the sun had
shone brightly, the temperature had been very comfortable, even warm.
But now, with