Both the men and the women
begged persistently for whisky and tobacco, and seemed so accustomed to
denials that I found it impossible to convince them that I had none to
give. Excepting the names of these two products of civilization, they
seemed to understand not a word of English; but I afterward learned that
they were on their way to Yosemite Valley to feast awhile on trout and
procure a load of acorns to carry back through the pass to their huts on
the shore of Mono Lake.
Occasionally a good countenance may be seen among the Mono Indians, but
these, the first specimens I had seen, were mostly ugly, and some of
them altogether hideous. The dirt on their faces was fairly stratified,
and seemed so ancient and so undisturbed it might almost possess a
geological significance. The older faces were, moreover, strangely
blurred and divided into sections by furrows that looked like the
cleavage-joints of rocks, suggesting exposure on the mountains in a
castaway condition for ages. Somehow they seemed to have no right place
in the landscape, and I was glad to see them fading out of sight down
the pass.
Then came evening, and the somber cliffs were inspired with the
ineffable beauty of the alpenglow.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119