Shifting gusts drove the waters of Tahoe scurrying first this way, then that.

Where in the early morning every tree had viewed her image among the reflected tints of sunrise, at ten-thirty white-caps flashed and disappeared to flash in a different place among the everchanging eddies.

Cascade and Fallen Leaf Lakes presented a continuous procession of white-caps to the east, while Eagle lay black and sinister in the shadow of Maggie's Peaks.
After lunch, the wind blowing too cold for comfort, we started home, straight down--over snow, granite and underbrush--till we hit the State Highway.

Here we found a sheltered place by a creek and talked over the day's happenings.
Along the roadside we drew up a resolution on the satisfaction of the trip.

The girl who had been cold all day didn't ever want to see snow again, but already the others were discussing a possible ascent from the Eagle Creek side--so great is the lure of the high places..