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58 THE TOP OF PIKE'S PEAK.

 

 

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Ridge after ridge we mounted, thinking it the summit
where rest and warmth and refreshment awaited us;
but that was still further on, and we went winding and
creeping up higher and higher, and the sun sunk and the
wind rose, and night—a strange, chill, solemn, super-
mundane night—fell upon us. We were all meek and
quiet. Even the horses, as they steadily climbed and
struggled and twisted from point to point, panting
heavily and quivering in every limb, seemed oppressed
with awe and subdued terror, and it was a relief when at
length and quite suddenly we passed over the last ridge,
to be greeted by a joyful bray from a burro standing by
the station, and to hear it answered by an animal of the
same family connection in our cavalcade. Even our
horses gave a feeble responsive whinny. All distinc-
tions of caste were forgotten at that supreme moment.
There was a camp-fire blazing brightly before the little
low stone house, from which the stars were to be re-
viewed and the winds timed, and the lower world sig-
naled all through the wild winter, and beside this fire
stood two or three of the young gentlemen of the corps.

* * * * * * *

“Last, at last, as I lay looking out through the open
door, meditating on the vanity of human hopes and the
vanity of human nature, I saw the moonlight and star-
light glimmer slowly out, and the great dark depths of
air at the east of the Peak change into a vast purple sea,
and that again change into violet and crimson and gold,
with a luminous throbbing point in the centre. Brighter
grew the strange light, and larger and ruddier, till it was

 

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