BEYOND THE TRAIL

-Four-Miz Creek ran westward among its stones
for many miles along the middle of a broad, bleak
pass to join the Klappan River. On either side of
it a mile or two of buck-brush and rough, swampy
ground sloped up eradually toward the hills.
Towering above these hills stood the high walls
of mountain ranges, shutting out the sky to north
and south. To the east the upland stretched away
unblocked into the drifting misery of mist and
clouds. To the west, the distant mountains across
the Klappan rose in blue domes and curves beyond
the last grey sweep of the pass.

On the rising ground between the creek and the
northern wall of the pass there were a few scattered
clumps of small evergreens, and in one of these
clumps our camp was pitched. A tarpaulin smelling
strongly of horse was spread on the ground, and
upon it were enamel plates and cups. Over us
stretched a canvas roof, from which the rain
dripped ceaselessly. A big fire leaped and hissed in
front, and hot-cakes hissed in the frying-pan as the
rain fell in upon them.

119