He wondered who had named it.

There was no suggestion of the soft, sensuous elegance of the land he had left in those great heroics of nature before him.

Those enormous trees were no woods for fauns or dryads; they had their own godlike majesty of bulk and height, and as he at last climbed the summit and saw the dark-helmeted head of Black Spur before him, and beyond it the pallid, spiritual cloud of the Sierras, he did not think of Olympus.

Yet for a moment he was startled, as he turned to the right, by the Doric-columned facade of a temple painted by the moonbeams and framed in an opening of the dark woods before him.

It was not until he had reached it that he saw that it was the new wooden post-office of Heavy Tree Hill.
And now the buildings of the new settlement began to faintly appear.