And in the second place, if we should get caught, on the
return trip, we would make for the nearest shelter and stay there till
traveling was safe again."
"Oh, dear, what a stupid adventure that would be! There's very little
excitement in this civilized country."
Mat laughed. "So this is what you call a civilized country? I don't see
any signs of civilization except this road and the water ditch yonder."
Mat was quite right. In every direction the frost-king held sway over an
unbroken wilderness. The massive ranges of the Sierras, clothed all in
white, were as majestic and as untamed as when Fremont and Kit Carson
gazed down upon them from their snowy summit. To cross that mountain
barrier, ninety-three hundred feet above the level of the sea, would
require as much heroism as ever. The wise old Indians knew better than
to attempt it; and so did the miners. Only a Fremont or a Kit Carson
might pass over that awful divide in safety, pushing on through the deep
drifts, half their mules and horses dead, and their comrades staggering
with exhaustion. How absolutely essential was that stage-road, winding
over the snow fields!
Soon Mat perceived signs that made him anxious.
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