The web-footed snow-shoes of New England could not be used
with advantage in such snow, so recourse was had to skis. But it was
difficult to manage these upon the steep trails of the canons, so that
people generally were content to hibernate like grizzlies. Many a miner,
glad to indulge his liking of conviviality, would take up his residence
in some mountain village for the winter, spending with a liberal hand
the precious yellow dust that he had worked so hard to get. Many, forced
to keep the wolf from the door, found work with lumbermen and ditch
companies.
In my opinion, Mat Bailey and Dr. Mason had a decided advantage over
both miners and villagers. Like the man-o-war's man of song they enjoyed
steady occupations summer and winter, and spent much of their time in
the open. The cold was never extreme, the thermometer very rarely
dropping below zero Fahrenheit. The dust of summer was buried deep under
the gleaming snow, and the air was crisp and exhilarating. Often the
doctor was one of Mat's passengers. Often he would leave the stage where
some trail wound down into a canon, and putting on his skis glide away
among the great pines, which, covered with snow and ornamented with
shining icicles, were scattered over the mountain slopes like great
wigwams of white canvas.
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