The
forest still kept its open, park-like character. Under the great pines the
ground was bare and brown with a thick covering of pine-needles, but in the
glades were green grass and blue flowers.
Once across this level we encountered a steeper ascent than any I had yet
climbed. Here the character of the forest began to change. There were other
trees than pines, and particularly one kind, cone-shaped, symmetrical, and
bright, which Dick called a silver spruce. I was glad it belonged to the
conifers, or pine-tree family, because it was the most beautiful tree I had
ever seen. We climbed ridges and threaded through aspen thickets in hollows
till near sunset. Then Stockton ordered a halt for camp.
It came none too soon for me, and I was so exhausted that I had to be
helped off my mustang. Stockton arranged my blankets, fed me, and bathed
the bruise on my head, but I was too weary and sick to be grateful or to
care about anything except sleep. Even the fact that my hands were
uncomfortably bound did not keep me awake.
When some one called me next morning my eyes did not want to stay open. I
had a lazy feeling and a dull ache in my bones, but the pain had gone from
my head. That made everything else seem all right.
Soon we were climbing again, and my interest in my surroundings grew as we
went up.
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