Transcription:
16 Some numbers have found their way through the Bloody Canon pass to Mono. In the evening Black I rode together up into
the sugar pine forests on to his old ranch in the moonlight The grand priest like pines held their arms above us in blessing
The wind sang songs of welcome The cool glaciers the running crystal fountains were in it I was no longer underlined: on but
underlined: in the mountains home again, my pulses were filled again On on in white moonlight spangles on the streams shadows
in rock hollows briery ravines Tree architecture on the sky more divine than ever Stars in deleted: among their spires, leafy
Mosaic in meadow bank. Never had the Sierra deleted: it seemed so unexhaustable mile on mile onward in the forest through
groves old young, pine tassels over arching brushing both cheeks at once, the chirping of crickets frogs only deepened the
stillness. About 8 o clock a strange 17 mass of tones came surging waving through the pines. That s the death song said
Black as he reined up his horse to listen. Some Indian is dead, soon two glaring watch fires shone red through the forest
marking the place of deleted: their congregation The fire glare the wild railing came with indescribable unpresarveness through
the still dark woods. I listened eagerly as the weird curves of woe swelled cadenced now rising steep like glacial precipices
now swooping low in polished slopes Falling bowlders rushing streams wind tones caught from rock tree I were in it. As we
at length rode away the heaviest notes were lost in distance I wandered that so much of mountain nature should well out from
such a source Miles away we met Indian groups slipping through the shadows on their their way to join the death wail Farther
on a harsh grunting growling seemed to come from the opposite bank of a hazely brook along wh we rode. What?