ch a glimpse of his face now and then as he turns to answer some
question addressed to him. . . . . . . .

"We wind up the side of the mountain like this for several miles,"
says Eric, "then we travel along a ridge for some distance, and
finally we ascend the peak formerly called the Black Dome, now Mount
Mitchell. The whole distance is about twelve miles, and the most of it
is steady climbing." . . . . . .

"And it was in this wilderness that Professor Mitchell lost his life
sixteen or seventeen years ago, was it not?" I ask.

"Yes, Burnett [the guide] was one of the men engaged in the search for
him. He will tell you all about it. . ."

The forest around us becomes wilder, greener, more luxuriant at every
step. . . . Presently, however, the aspect of our surroundings
changes. We leave this varied forest behind, and enter the region of
the balsam, from the dark color of which the mountain takes its name.
Above a certain line of elevation no trees are found save these
beautiful yet sombre firs. They grow to an immense height and stand so
thickly together that one marvels how any animal larger than a cat can
thread its way among their stems. Overhead the boughs interlock in a
canopy, making perpetual shade beneath. No shrubs of any kind are to
be found here--only beds of thick elastic moss, richer than the
richest velvet, and ferns in plumy profusion. . . . Dan Burnett leads
on, and presently we emerge on the largest and most beautiful of the
little prairies through which we have passed. This stretch of open
ground lies at the foot of the highest peak, the abrupt sides of which
rise in conical shape before us. It is here, Mr. Burnett tells us,
that the mountaineers who were searching for Professor Mitchell found
the first trace of the way he had taken.

"We had been searchin' from Friday to Tuesday," he says, "and on
Tuesday we was pretty nigh disheartened, when Wilson--an old hunter
from over in Yancey--said he hadn't no doubt the professor had tried
to go down to Caney Valley by a trail they two had followed thirteen
years afore, and which leads that way"--he points down into the dark
wilds below us. "Well, we looked along the edge of this here prairie
till we found a track. Wilson was right--he _had_ tried to go down to
Caney Valley. We follered his trail fur about four mile, and I was one
of them what found him at last."

"He had lost his way," says Eric. "I have seen the spot--they call it
Mitchell's Falls no