It was a dark and stormy
time, well calculated to test the skill and endurance of mountaineers.
The snow-laden gale drove on night and day in hissing, blinding floods,
and when at length it began to abate, I found that a small band of wild
sheep had weathered the storm in the lee of a clump of Dwarf Pines a few
yards above my storm-nest, where the snow was eight or ten feet deep. I
was warm back of a rock, with blankets, bread, and fire. My brave
companions lay in the snow, without food, and with only the partial
shelter of the short trees, yet they made no sign of suffering or
faint-heartedness.
In the months of May and June, the wild sheep bring forth their young in
solitary and almost inaccessible crags, far above the nesting-rocks of
the eagle. I have frequently come upon the beds of the ewes and lambs at
an elevation of from 12,000 to 13,000 feet above sea-level. These beds
are simply oval-shaped hollows, pawed out among loose, disintegrating
rock-chips and sand, upon some sunny spot commanding a good outlook, and
partially sheltered from the winds that sweep those lofty peaks almost
without intermission. Such is the cradle of the little mountaineer,
aloft in the very sky; rocked in storms, curtained in clouds, sleeping
in thin, icy air; but, wrapped in his hairy coat, and nourished by a
strong, warm mother, defended from the talons of the eagle and the teeth
of the sly coyote, the bonny lamb grows apace.
Pages:
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348