It looked cold and lonesome down there; terribly cold and lonesome.
Mount Lassen, when he sent a comfort-seeking glance that way, sent up a spurt of grayish black smoke with a vicious suddenness that made him jump.

With bulging eyes he watched it mount higher and higher until he held his breath in fear that it would never stop.

He saw the column halt and spread and fall....
When it was over he became conscious of itching palms where his nails had dug into them and left little red marks.

He discovered that he was shaking as with a nervous chill, and that his knees were bending under him.

He sent a wild-eyed glance to the still, purple lake down there where the snowbanks lingered, though it was the middle of May; to the far hills that were purpling already with the dropping of the sun behind the high peaks; to the manzanita slope where the trail lay in shadow now.