“I guess we can risk it,” he said, and turned eastward up the bank. This side trail climbed much more steeply, and led them after a couple of miles into a box cañon, like a deep rock ditch, with just the stream and the trail at the bottom, and then into one of the wildest spots you can imagine—a marvelous bowl, almost entirely closed in except for the gap where they had climbed, with a green glacier lake at the bottom, and steeply sloping sides which went up from the shore of the lake for over five thousand feet—Cannon Mountain to the north, Brown to the south, and at the eastern end, high over their heads, the great white field of Sperry Glacier, pouring down its silver ribbons of waterfalls.
They reached this lovely wild spot, called Avalanche Basin because when the snows come in winter the sides are so steep that avalanches keep pouring down, before noon, and at once made camp, while Joe set about the lunch.
After lunch, Bob said, “Well, Mr. Mills, bring on your goat.”
Mills didn’t answer, but lifted his head, and scanned the cliffs.
“All right,” he finally said, “there are two.”
And he pointed upward.
Everybody followed his finger, to a red cliff, across the lake and far up the steep mountain wall.
“I don’t see anything but some spots of snow,” Bob said.
“Wait—wait—one of the spots is moving!” Lucy cried. “Is that really a goat? My goodness, how does he stick on? Why, it’s straight up and down!”
“That don’t trouble a goat,” said the Ranger.