Far to the eastward, the summits of the Washoe
mountains lay bathed in golden sunlight, while the deep gorges at their
feet were purpling into night. The gentle breeze which crept over the
bosom of the ice-bound lake, softly wafted from the tree-tops a muffled
dirge for the dying girl. Ere another day dawned over the expanse of
snow, her spirit would pass to a haven of peace where the demons of
famine could never enter.
In the desolate cabin, all was silence. Living under the snow, passing
an underground life, as it were, seldom visiting each other, or leaving
the cabins, these poor prisoners learned to listen rather than look for
relief. During the first days they watched hour after hour the upper end
of the lake where the "fifteen" had disappeared. With aching eyes and
weary hearts, they always turned back to their subterranean abodes
disappointed. Hope finally deserted the strongest hearts. The brave
mothers had constantly encouraged the despondent by speaking of the
promised relief, yet this was prompted more by the necessities of the
situation than from any belief that help would arrive. It was human
nature, however, to glance toward the towering summits whenever they
ascended to the surface of the snow, and to listen at all times for an
unfamiliar sound or footstep. So delicate became their sense of hearing,
that every noise of the wind, every visitor's tread, every sound that
ordinarily occurred above their heads, was known and instantly detected.
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