But among these jagged chunks we threaded, back and forth, always trying to push ahead, until suddenly Red Fox Scout Ward called, "I'm out!" and we went to him. So he was.
That long, bare slope lay beyond, blotched with snow. The snow had not seemed much, from below; but now it was in large patches, with drifts so hard that we could walk on them. One drift was forty feet thick; it was lodged against a brow, and down its face was trickling black water, streaking it. This snow-bank away up here was the beginning of a river, and helped make the lake.
We had spread out, with Apache still behind. Suddenly little Jed called. "See the chickens?" he said.
We went over. Chirps were to be heard, and there among the drifts, on the gravelly slope, were running and pecking and squatting a lot of birds about like gray speckled Brahmas. They were as tame as speckled Brahmas, too. They had red eyes and whitish tails.
"Ptarmigan!" exclaimed Fitz, and he began to take pictures. He got some first-class ones.
Red Fox Scout Van Sant never made a move to shoot any of them. They were so tame and barn-yardy. We were glad enough to let them live, away up here among the snowdrifts, where they seemed to like to be. It was their country, not ours—and they were plucky, to choose it. So we passed on.
The slope brought us up to a wide moraine, I guess you'd call it, where great bowlders were heaped as thick as pebbles—bowlders and blocks as large as cottages. These had not looked to be much, either, from below.
On the edge of them we halted, to look down and behind again. Now we were much higher. The ledge was small and far, and the timber was small and farther, and the world was beginning to lie flat like a map. On the level with us were only a few other peaks, in the snowy Medicine Range. The pass itself was so low that we could scarcely make it out.
To cross that bowlder moraine was a terrific job. We climbed and sprawled, and were now up, now down. It was a go-as-you-please. Everywhere among the bowlders were whistling rock-rabbits, or conies. They were about the size of small guinea-pigs, and had short tails and round, flat bat ears plastered close to their heads. They had their mouths crammed full of dried grass, which they carried into their nests through crannies—putting away hay for the winter! It was mighty cheerful to have them so busy and greeting us, away up in these lonely heights, and Fitz got some more good animal pictures.
Apache was in great distress. He couldn't navigate those bowlders. We could hear him "hee-hawing" on the lower edge, and could see him staring after us and racing frantically back and forth. But we must go on; we would pick him up on our way down.