“The holiday humour that ought to have prevailed in the tent that evening–our first on the plateau–did not make its appearance; there was depression and sadness in the air–we had grown so fond of our dogs. The place was named the “Butcher’s Shop.” It had been arranged that we should stop here two days to rest and eat dog.
“There was more than one among us who at first would not hear of taking any part in this feast; but as time went by, and appetites became sharper, this view underwent a change, until, during the last few days before reaching the Butcher’s Shop, we all thought and talked of nothing but dog cutlets, dog steaks, and the like. . . .
“We quickly found out that the Butcher’s shop was not a hospitable locality. During the night the temperature sank, and violent gusts of wind swept over the plain; they shook and tore at the tent, but it would take more than that to get a hold of it. . . .The effect of the great and sudden change of altitude made itself felt at once; when I wanted to turn round in my bag, I had to do it a bit at a time, so as not to get out of breath.”