, that we thought
we could make better time on foot.

Leaving our ponies, therefore, we went scrambling forward, until, about
half a mile from our destination, Joe suddenly stopped, and holding up
his hand, cried eagerly:

"Hark! Keep quiet! Listen!"

"Bow, wow, wow! Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!" came faintly to our ears from
far up the mountain.

"It's old Sox!" cried Joe. "There are no dogs up here!" And clapping his
hands on either side of his mouth, he gave a yell which made the echoes
ring. Almost immediately the sharp report of a rifle came down to us,
and with a spontaneous cheer we plunged forward once more.

It was hard work, for we were about nine thousand feet above sea level;
the further we advanced, too, the more snow we encountered, until
presently we found the narrow valley so blocked with it that we had to
ascend the mountain-spur on one side to get around it. In doing so, we
came in sight of the cliff behind Peter's house, and then, for the
first time, we understood what a snow-slide really meant.

Reaching half way up the thousand-foot precipice was a great slope of
snow, completely filling the end of the valley; and projecting from it
at all sorts of angles were trees, big and little, some whole, some
broken off short, some standing erect as though growing there, some
showing nothing but their roots. At the same time, from the edge of the
precipice upward to the summit of the ridge, we had a clear view of the
long, bare track left by the slide, with the snow-banks, fifteen or
twenty feet thick, still standing on either side of it, held back by the
trees.

"What a tremendous mass of snow!" I exclaimed, "There must be ten
million tons of it! And what an irresistible power! Peter's house must
have been crushed like an eggshell!"

"Yes," replied Joe. "But meanwhile where's Peter?"

Once more he shouted; and this time, somewhere straight ahead of us,
there was an answering shout which set us hurrying forward again with
eager expectancy.

At the same moment, up from the ground flew old Sox, perched upon the
root of an inverted tree, where, showing big and black against the snow
bank behind him, he set to work to bark a continuous welcome as we
struggled forward to the spot, one behind the other.

Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on the
very outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, when
he saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and wavin