Thus they went for the marching portions of two days. Then at noon they
topped the main crest at the broad Pass, and the sheer descents on the
Inyo side lay before them. From beneath them flowed the plains of Owen's
Valley, so far down that the white roads showed like gossamer threads,
the ranches like tiny squares of green. Eight thousand feet almost
straight down the precipice fell away. Across the valley rose the White
Mountains and the Panamints, and beyond them dimly could be guessed
Death Valley and the sombre Funeral Ranges. To the north was a lake with
islands swimming in it, and above it empty craters looking from above
like photographs of the topography of the moon; and beyond it tier after
tier, as far as the eye could reach, the blue mountains of Nevada. A
narrow gorge, standing fairly on end, led down from the Pass. Without
hesitation, like a sluggishly moving, viscid brown fluid, the sheep
flowed over the edge. The dogs, their flanking duties relieved by the
walls of dark basalt on either hand, fell to the rear with their
masters. The mountain-bred horses dropped calmly down the rough and
precipitous trail.
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