After wandering and wondering an hour or two, admiring
the magnificent rock and crystal scenery about us, we returned to
camp at sundown, planning a grand excursion for the morrow.
I set off early the morning of August 30 before any one else in camp
had stirred, not waiting for breakfast, but only eating a piece of
bread. I had intended getting a cup of coffee, but a wild storm was
blowing and calling, and I could not wait. Running out against the
rain-laden gale and turning to catch my breath, I saw that the
minister's little dog had left his bed in the tent and was coming
boring through the storm, evidently determined to follow me. I told
him to go back, that such a day as this had nothing for him.
"Go back," I shouted, "and get your breakfast." But he simply stood
with his head down, and when I began to urge my way again, looking
around, I saw he was still following me. So I at last told him to
come on if he must and gave him a piece of the bread I had in my
pocket.
Instead of falling, the rain, mixed with misty shreds of clouds, was
flying in level sheets, and the wind was roaring as I had never heard
wind roar before.
