and its wonder his heart was filled with the deep and satisfying joy which
only men like Langdon can fully understand. To his friend and comrade,
Bruce Otto, with whom he had gone five times into the North country, all
mountains and all valleys were very much alike; he was born among them, he
had lived among them all his life, and he would probably die among them.

It was Bruce who gave him a sudden sharp nudge with his elbow.

"I see the heads of three caribou crossing a dip about a mile and a half
up the valley," he said, without taking his eyes from the telescope.

"And I see a Nanny and her kid on the black shale of that first mountain to
the right," replied Langdon. "And, by George, there's a Sky Pilot looking
down on her from a crag a thousand feet above the shale! He's got a beard a
foot long. Bruce, I'll bet we've struck a regular Garden of Eden!"

"Looks it," vouchsafed Bruce, coiling up his long legs to get a better rest
for his telescope. "If this ain't a sheep an' bear country, I've made the
worst guess I ever made in my life."

For five minutes they looked, without a word passing between them. Behind
them their horses were nibbling hungrily in the thick, rich grass. The
sound of the many waters in the mountains droned in their ears, and the
valley seemed sleeping in a sea of sunshine. Langdon could think of nothing
more comparable than that--slumber. The valley was like a great,
comfortable, happy cat, and the sounds they heard, all commingling in that
pleasing drone, was its drowsy purring. He was focussing his glass a
little more closely on the goat standing watchfully on its crag, when Otto
spoke again.