If it had not been for the bushes they could never have made the ascent, as they were now in the region of snow and ice and the slopes were like glass. Often they were compelled to crawl, and it was necessary, too, to exercise a good deal of care in crawling.
St. Clair groaned as he rose after climbing a rock, and brushed the knees of his fine gray trousers.
“Cheer up, Arthur,” said Langdon, “it could have been worse. The sharp stones there might have cut holes through them.”
But in spite of every difficulty and danger they went steadily toward the summit, and streamers of mist yet floating about the mountain often enclosed them in a damp shroud. Obviously, however, the clouds and vapors were thinning, and soon the last shred would float away.
“It ain't more'n a hundred feet more to the top,” said Wallace, “an' it's shore that the sun will be shinin' there.”
“Shining for us, of course,” said Langdon. “It's a good omen.”
“I wish I could always look for the best as you do, Tom,” said St. Clair.
“I'm glad I can. Gay hearts are better than riches. As sure as I climb, Arthur, I see the top.”
“Yes, there it is, the nice snowy bump above us.”
They dragged themselves upon the loftiest crest, and, panting, stood there for a few minutes in several inches of snow. Then the wind caught up the last shreds and tatters of mist, and whipped them away southward. Every one of them drew a deep, sharp breath, as the great panorama of the valley to the northward and far below was unrolled before them.