The view was, of course, superb, but while I was admiring it in all
its wonderful extent and variety, Hall, who had immediately pulled out
his binocular, was busy inspecting the Syx works, the top of whose
great tufted smoke column was thousands of feet beneath our
level. Jackson's Lake, Jenny's Lake, Leigh's Lake, and several
lakelets glittered in the sunlight amid the pale grays and greens of
Jackson's Hole, while many a bending reach of the Snake River shone
amid the wastes of sage-brush and rock.
"There!" suddenly exclaimed Hall, "I thought I should find it."
"What?"
"Take a look through my glass at the roof of Syx's mill. Look just in
the centre."
"Why, it's open in the middle!" I cried as soon as I had put the glass
to my eyes. "There's a big circular hole in the centre of the roof,"
"Look inside! Look inside!" repeated Hall, impatiently.
"I see nothing there except something bright."
"Do you call it nothing because it is bright?"
"Well, no," I replied, laughing. "What I mean is that I see nothing
that I can make anything of except a shining object, and all I can
make of that is that it is bright.
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