It was long after daylight the next morning when Jack and Joe set out, but the mountains on either side of the little valley were so high that the sun had not yet melted the frost on the grass. The first mile of their journey was spent in clambering up a series of moss-covered ledges, very steep, but not at all difficult to climb. Then they found themselves at the bottom of a talus, a sharp slope of rock fragments, that had fallen from the cliffs above, and they followed this around point after point, until the narrow valley of the stream opened before them.
This valley was nearly straight and only three or four miles in length, walled in on the west and north by a vertical precipice, not very high, but terminating in the same jagged rock pinnacles that crowned the wall to the north of the camp, and beyond which Hugh thought he might see the valley of Belly River. There was no timber growing at the foot of this rock wall nor on the steep mountainside that lay to the east, but at one time the actual valley where the stream ran and where grass and underbrush now grew, had supported a growth of large timber. All these trees, however, had been broken off twelve or fifteen feet above the ground and their trunks lay piled one upon another among the growing vegetation like a great heap of giant jack-straws.
“Now, what do you suppose broke off all those trees at just that height, Joe?” asked Jack.
Joe looked for a long time before he answered, and then he said, “Snowslide, I reckon.”
“By Jove,” said Jack, “that’s what it is, sure enough. You can see the track of it coming down that mountainside, can’t you? What an immense mass of snow it must have been, and what a force it must have had to break off those great, thick trees. Some of them look eighteen inches through. I wonder how long ago it took place.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “it sure must have come down fast and hit those trees hard, and when it got down here into the valley, it must have just piled up. It couldn’t get out anywhere, for big and swift as it was, it could not knock down this wall.”
All along the mountainside opposite to them were to be seen places where deep and wide grooves had been cut in the soil and, as they looked more closely, they could see the stumps of many trees that had been cut down by the slide.
“Well,” said Jack, “that certainly was a big avalanche.”
“Avalanche,” said Joe, “what’s that?”
“Why,” said Jack, “it’s just another name for snowslide. That’s what they call a snowslide in Switzerland, I believe. A man once wrote a piece of poetry about a fellow that was climbing the mountains in Switzerland, and one of the people that he passed said to him, ‘Beware, the awful avalanche.’ That meant watch out close for snowslides.”