The pines sparkled with frost and the snow in their shadow was a soft gray.

The river looked as black as ink, except where it foamed among the rocks, and the gorge echoed with the crash of drifting ice that shocked and splintered on the ledges.

The light was strong, and rocks and trees far up the slopes stood out, harshly distinct.

As he turned to the West, however, he noted a faint haziness and shading off in the outline of the hills.
"I don't know if that softness means anything, and hardly believe it does," he said.

"When I made up the wages book last night and saw what the work we have been able to do has cost us, I got a shock.