Roy Norton, The Shaman — Chapter 3 (1922)
“ It runs upward, downward, skirts great white swales, clings to narrow places where if a sled were to skid or sway, both sled, men, and panting dogs might fall a thousand feet. And always their eyes are on that far peak. A funnel of the world this! A place where if comes a wrathful wind it sweeps men, dogs, sleds, everything to eternity. Natives have died on that pass within a hundred yards of security. ”
