Winnipeg has the misfortune to turn her ankle. But there is no lack of bandages in the party. In fact, by this time the ladies' skirts consist chiefly of bandages, so that with foot well swathed, and stopping now and then for repairs to the ladies' boots, slipping, sliding, stumbling, leaping, we finally, in a more or less battered condition, arrive at camp. The indomitable Professor, aided by the Missionary and the Man from California, set about supper. But long ere it is ready the rest of the party are sound asleep. They are mercilessly dragged forth, however, to the refreshment of tea, toast and bacon, for which they are none too grateful, and after which they drop back upon their pine beds into dreamless sleep.
It takes us a full week, the greater part of it spent in bed, to realize that mountain-climbing, sans guides, sans mountaineering boots, plus petticoats, is a pastime for angels perhaps, but not for fools.
On the upper part of the mountain, the Professor and I were greatly excited over what appeared to be the fossil remains of a prehistoric monster, and if its jawbone had not weighed several hundred pounds—the backbone must have weighed several tons—we would have carried it down as a present to the Museum. We left them behind us, and they are there to this day for some anthropologist to see.
