into a boundless sea of cloud beyond. The level surface of this lake,
river, and sea of clouds was hundreds of feet below us.

From this summit, our trail plunged downward into this sea of mists.
When we reached its upper surface, which was plainly defined, little
wisps of mist or cloud were streaming up along the furrowed channels of
the mountain walls. As we entered the lake of cloud the sunlight became
fainter, uprushes of cold mists struck us, gloom settled, denser and
denser grew the fog, drops of condensed vapor dripped from the trees
under which we passed. At the bottom of the valley, we could scarcely
see a dozen yards in any direction. We were passing along meadows, like
those of New England, with brakes, sunflowers, and huckleberries; here
and there were little fields of wheat or peas. The fog was too dense for
us to know whether we lost fine scenery. We saw nothing of the little
villages through which we passed. On and on we plunged along the trail,
until it began an ascent of a ridge, almost like a knife-edge, with
steep slopes on both sides. When we had reached the summit of this
ridge, we found the trail level, through a growth of oak trees which
were loaded with bromelias and orchids. Though still dim, the light had
brightened as we rose to higher levels. Graceful ferns and sprays of
terrestrial orchids overhung our trail at every cutting or slope. One
spray, which I plucked as I rode under it, was more than a yard in
length, and its curiously colored brown and yellow flowers were
strangely like insects in form. At one level summit of our ridge, we
came upon a little whitewashed building of adobe, dome-topped, with no
windows and but one little door. Pushing this open, I entered through
a doorway so narrow that I had to remove my hat, and so low that I was
forced to bend, and found myself in a little shrine with a cross and
pictures of two or three saints, before which were plain vases filled
with fresh flowers, the offerings of travelers. We added our spray of