"In that corner of Switzerland which is thrust westward between
Germany and France there are a lot of hills and mountains which were
unfamiliar to me. The flora resembled that of the Vosges--so did the
bird and insect life except on the higher mountains.

"There is a mountain called Mount Terrible. I camped on it. There
was some snow. You know what happens sometimes in summer on the
higher peaks. Well, it happened to me--the whole snow field slid
when I was part way across it--and I thought it was all off--never
dreamed a man could live through that sort of thing--with the sheer
gneiss ledges below!

"It was not a big avalanche--not the terrific thundering
sort--rather an easy slipping, I fancy--but it was a devilish thing
to lie aboard, and, of course, if there had been precipices where I
slid--" He shrugged.

The girl looked up from her shorthand manuscript; he seemed to be
dreamily living over in his mind those moments on Mount Terrible.
Presently he smiled slightly:

"I was horribly scared--smothered, choked, half-senseless.... Part
of the snow and a lot of trees and boulders went over the edge of
something with a roar like Niagara.... I don't know how long
afterward it was when I came to my senses.

"I was in a very narrow, rocky valley, up to my neck in soft snow,
and the sun beating on my face. ... So I crawled out... I wasn't
hurt; I was merely lost.