After
crossing the river, the dauntless climbers, led by their chief, at once
began to scale the canon wall, turning now right, now left, in long,
single file, keeping well apart out of one another's way, and leaping in
regular succession from crag to crag, now ascending slippery
dome-curves, now walking leisurely along the edges of precipices,
stopping at times to gaze down at me from some flat-topped rock, with
heads held aslant, as if curious to learn what I thought about it, or
whether I was likely to follow them. After reaching the top of the wall,
which, at this place, is somewhere between 1500 and 2000 feet high, they
were still visible against the sky as they lingered, looking down in
groups of twos or threes.
Throughout the entire ascent they did not make a single awkward step, or
an unsuccessful effort of any kind. I have frequently seen tame sheep in
mountains jump upon a sloping rock-surface, hold on tremulously a few
seconds, and fall back baffled and irresolute. But in the most trying
situations, where the slightest want or inaccuracy would have been
fatal, these always seemed to move in comfortable reliance on their
strength and skill, the limits of which they never appeared to know.
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