here and there in the lower valleys.

"I tell you," said Glen to Binney Gibbs, who had by this time become his
firm friend, "it pays to go without fresh vegetables for a couple of
months, just to find out what fine things onions and potatoes are."

Chapter XXVIII.

LOST IN A MOUNTAIN SNOW-STORM.

A week was spent on the eastern slope of the mountains, running lines
through the Mosca and Cuchara passes. Finally, a camp was made in a
forest of balsam-firs, beside a great spring of ice-water, that bubbled
from a granite basin at the summit of the Sangre de Cristo, nine
thousand feet above sea-level. To Glen and Binney, who had always dwelt
in a flat country, and knew nothing of mountains, this was a new and
delightful experience. They never tired of gazing off on the superb
panorama outspread below them. To the east, the view was so vast and
boundless that it seemed as though the distant blue of the horizon must
be that of the ocean itself, and that they were spanning half the
breadth of a continent in a single sight. At their feet lay the Plains
they had just crossed, like a great green map on which dark lines of
timber and gleams of light marked the Arkansas and its tributary
streams, whose waters would mingle with those of the Mississippi.

On the other hand, they could see, across the broad basin of the San
Luis Valley, other ranges of unknown mountains, whose mysteries they
were yet to explore. Through this western valley, flowing southward,
wound the shining ribbon of the Rio Grande. Both north and south of them
were mountain-peaks. To climb to the very summit of one of these was
Glen's present ambition, and his longing eyes were turned more often to
the snow-capped dome that rose in solemn majesty on the south side of
the pass than in any other direction. He even succeeded in persuading
Binney Gibbs that to climb that mountain would be just a little better
fun than anything else that could be suggested. Still, he did not see
any prospect of their being allowed to make the attempt, and so tried
not to think of it.

On the first evening, after camp had been pitched on the summit of the
pass, he sat on a chunk of moss-covered granite, gazing meditatively
into the glowing coals of a glorious fire. He imagined he had succeeded
in banishing all thoughts of that desirable mountain-top from his mind,
and yet, all of a sudden, he became aware that it was the very thing he
was thinking of. He gave himself a pet