and wallowing in a cloud; but, holding steadily onward, by half-past
ten o'clock I had gained the highest summit.

I held my commanding foothold in the sky for two hours, gazing on the
glorious landscapes spread maplike around the immense horizon, and
tracing the outlines of the ancient lava-streams extending far into
the surrounding plains, and the pathways of vanished glaciers of which
Shasta had been the center. But, as I had left my coat in camp for
the sake of having my limbs free in climbing, I soon was cold. The
wind increased in violence, raising the snow in magnificent drifts
that were drawn out in the form of wavering banners blowing in the
sun. Toward the end of my stay a succession of small clouds struck
against the summit rocks like drifting icebergs, darkening the air as
they passed, and producing a chill as definite and sudden as if
ice-water had been dashed in my face. This is the kind of cloud in
which snow-flowers grow, and I turned and fled.

Finding that I was not closely pursued, I ventured to take time on the
way down for a visit to the head of the Whitney Glacier and the
"Crater Butte." After I had reached the end of the main summit ridge
the descent was but little more than one continuous soft, mealy,
muffled slide, most luxurious and rapid, though the hissing, swishing
speed attained was obscured in great part by flying snow dust--a
marked contrast to the boring seal-wallowing upward struggle. I
reached camp about an hour before dusk, hollowed a strip of loose
ground in the lee of a large block of red lava, where firewood was
abundant, rolled myself in my blankets, and went to sleep.

Next morning, having slept little the night before the ascent and
being weary with climbing after the excitement was over, I slept late.