"O, you kid!" he cried.
And with radiant face she answered, "O, you kid!"
They camped one night in a deep dent in the canyon, where was
snuggled a box-factory village, and where a toothless ancient,
gazing with faded eyes at their traveling outfit, asked: "Be you
showin'?"
They passed Castle Crags, mighty-bastioned and glowing red
against the palpitating blue sky. They caught their first glimpse
of Mt. Shasta, a rose-tinted snow-peak rising, a sunset dream,
between and beyond green interlacing walls of canyon--a landmark
destined to be with them for many days. At unexpected turns,
after mounting some steep grade, Shasta would appear again, still
distant, now showing two peaks and glacial fields of shimmering
white. Miles and miles and days and days they climbed, with
Shasta ever developing new forms and phases in her summer snows.
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