116 MOUNTAINS

followed one another with heavy patience through
the green shadows.

Through the high trunks of the trees we could see
the purple line of distant mountains; as the trail de-
scended, the valley began to unfold before us. From
the high ground over which we rode, the forest
stretched down for thousands of feet, and then was
lost in mist. The mist was tinged with pink; it lay
over the river and drifted up the farther slopes to
where the blues and purples of the mountains swept
upward to a jagged whiteness among the clouds.

We led our horses down the zigzag path of soft
and slippery earth, stopping sometimes to smoke
while they rested their trembling limbs. Down and
still down we went, seeing only the green of the
forest and the brown of the trail until the first black
rampikes of burnt country came into sight below
us. Presently we were among them: thousands of
upright, blackened trunks, branchless and desolate
against the grey of the sky; at their feet was a criss-
cross of fallen logs, and fireweed spread its red and
gold among the ruins. The horses jumped and
scrambled and stumbled over the dead-fall, moving
slowly one after another through the least encum-
bered path until, after weary miles, we left the
rampikes behind us and came to the level, wooded
bank of the Klappan River.