Irony of fate!
One of the horses--it seemed most intentional--gave his load a tilt: man
and crockery all went together in one heap to a crevice thirty yards
down the incline, and as I proceeded I heard the choice rhetoric of the
victim and the muleteer arguing as to who should pay.
Just before that, I dipped into the very bosom of the earth, with
rugged hills rising to bewildering heights all around, base to summit
clad luxuriously in thick greenery of mountain firs, a few cedars, and
the Chinese ash. Black patches of rock to the right were the death-bed
of many a swaying giant, and in contrast, running away sunwards, a
silver shimmer on the unmoving ocean of delicious green was caused by
the slantwise sun reflections, while in the ravines on the other side a
dark blue haze gave no invitation. Smoothly-curving fringes stood out
softly against the eternal blue of the heavens. Farther on, eloquent of
their own strength and imperturbability, were deep rocks, black and
defiant; but even here firs grew on the projecting ledges which now and
again hung menacingly above the red path, shading away the sunlight and
giving to the dark crevices an atmosphere of damp and cold, where men's
voices echoed and re-echoed like weird greetings from the grave.
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