...I had one experience which I shall not soon forget. It was in 1910 in the Bavarian Wettersteingebirge above Partenkirchen. There is a small rock peak in the neighbourhood called the Alpspitze which I set out to climb about two one June morning, with, as my companion, a young forester called Sebastian. We duly reached the summit, and about nine, after breakfast...began our walk of six miles or so to the valley...I noticed that my companion had fallen silent, and, glancing at him, was amazed to see that his face was dead-white, that sweat stood in beads on his forehead, and that his eyes were staring ahead as if he were in an agony of fear, as if terror were all around him so that he dared not look one way rather than another. Suddenly he began to run, and I ran too, some power not myself constraining me. Terror had seized me also, but I did not know what I dreaded...We ran--we ran like demented bacchanals, tearing down the glades, leaping rocks, bursting through thickets, colliding with trees, sometimes colliding with each other, and all the time we never uttered a sound. At last we fetched up beside the much-frequented valley highway, where we lay for a time utterly exhausted. For the rest of the road home we did not speak; we did not even dare to look at each other.

What was the cause? I suppose it was Panic. Sebastian had seen the goat-foot god, or something of the kind...and he had made me feel his terror.

Image: the "small rock peak," the Alpspitze, with cross talisman against goat-foot gods.