Their first night they camped almost at the summit of the mountain.
Kio wanted to make the warmth of the valley beyond, but those new
muscles in David's legs and back declared otherwise. Strawberries were
ripening in the deeper valleys, but up where they were it was cold. A
bitter wind came off the snow on the peaks, and David could smell the
pungent fog of the clouds. They were so high that the scrub twigs of
their fire smouldered with scarcely sufficient heat to fry their bacon.
David was oblivious of the discomfort. His blood ran warm in hope and
anticipation. He was almost at the end of his journey. It had been a
great fight, and he had won. There was no doubt in his mind now. After
this he could face the world again.
Day after day they made their way westward. It was tremendous, this
journey over the backbone of the mountains. It gave one a different
conception of men. They like ants on these mountains, David
thought--insignificant, crawling ants. Here was where one might find a
soul and a religion if he had never had one before. One's littleness, at
times, was almost frightening. It made one think, impressed upon one
that life was not much more than an accident in this vast scale of
creation, and that there was great necessity for a God.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224