His companions remonstrated with him. They told him he would surely be killed. They reminded him of his kooner and his children in the igloo in Eskimo Town. But Eiseeyou was firm.
He had made up his mind. He would go. So he gripped his rifle that he might use it as an Alpine staff to guide his downward plunge, shook off his companions, and squatting down slipped over the icy slope.
The way in which he gained speed amazed and terrified him. Almost before he knew it, he was slipping down the mountain side like a streak. A shower of ice and snow came rattling down behind him, but he left these smaller bits far behind.
Out and in among the rocks he guided his perilous flight by thrusting his rifle muzzle against the icy crust. Several times he barely missed jagged boulders that suddenly flashed in his path. Once he plunged over a sheer drop of fifteen feet and thought he was lost. If he failed to keep his erect position and started to travel head first, or sideways, he would surely be dashed upon some rock. It was only by guiding his
