The mountain fought them with cliffs and canyons, too, and sometimes they could scarcely make distance on hands and knees. Now and then they had to halt, to rest and catch breath.
Once or twice they jumped the new species of deer, from sudden coverts; there were many large birds, that rose with loud whirr. "Pheasants," the doctor and lieutenant called them. And twice, in the early morning, they saw buffalo feeding—a smaller buffalo than those upon the plains.
But they did not stop to hunt any of these.
About mid-morning they paused to rest again, and gaze behind from an open rocky knoll. The sun had burst forth.
"A fine day after all," panted the lieutenant.
"Yes, sir, up here. But look below. Ain't that a snowstorm, sir?" wheezed Terry Miller. The feet of him and of John Brown, where seen through their worn-out shoes, were bruised and bleeding. Stub's moccasins were shredded and soaked. The feet of the lieutenant and the doctor were in no better shape.
Now when they gazed backward and down, they looked upon a layer of dull cloud. With occasional break, the cloud rested over all the country at the mountain's base—and through the breaks might be seen the spume of falling snow!
"We've come some way, eh?" remarked the
