Cold, harassed by dangers that he never before knew could exist, disheartened by the even more precipitous trail which lay ahead, fighting a battle for which he was unfitted by experience, Houston could not help but feel repaid for it all as he flattened his back against the hot radiator and, comforted by the warmth, looked about him.

The world was his--his to look upon, to dissect, to survey with the all-seeing eyes of tremendous heights, to view in the perspective of the eagle and the hawk, to look down upon from the pinnacles and see, even as a god might see it.

Far below lay a tiny, discolored ribbon,--the road which he had traversed, but now only a scratch upon the expanse of the great country which tumbled away beneath him.

Hills had become hummocks, towering pines but blades of grass, streams only a variegated line in the vast display of Nature's artistry.

And above-- Barry Houston looked upon it with dazzled eyes.