Untrue IT was a singularly sharp night, and clear as the heart of a diamond.
Clear nights have a trick of be- ing keen.
This night was bright enough to bite like a serpent. The moon was moving mysteriously along behind the giant pines crowning the South Mountain, striking a cold sparkle from the crusted snow, and bringing out against the black west and ghostly outlines of the Coast Range, beyond which lay the invisible Pa- cific. The snow had piled itself, in the open spaces along the bottom of the gulch, into long ridges that seemed to heave, and into hills that appeared to toss and scatter spray. Among the advantages of which the mountains cannot deprive the gold-hunter is the privilege of speaking Latin. While putting on its armour against the assaults of the wind, this snow had neglected no coign of van- tage.