the slopes of the gully, and one or two of them which
had fallen lay athwart the creek.

They stopped for a few minutes upon a dizzy ledge of rock, from which
they looked far down across battalions of somber trees upon the
gleaming lake below. Here Weston was guilty of an indiscretion. He
admitted afterward that he ought to have known that a man used to
command in India, who claimed some acquaintance with Alpine climbing,
was not likely to be advised by him.

"I believe we could get down, sir, and there are several logs across
the creek," he said. "We must get over it somehow, and the gully will
probably run into a canon lower down."

"That," remarked Kinnaird, dryly, "is perfectly evident. It is,
however, my intention to follow up the gully."

Weston was conscious that Ida Stirling was glancing at him, but his
face remained expressionless; and as he suggested nothing further,
they went on again. The mountain slope had been steadily growing
steeper beneath them, and they had not yet reached the bench. They
went up for another hour, and then came out upon the expected strip of
plateau in the midst of which the gully died out. The plateau,
however, lay on the northern side of a great peak, and was covered
with slushy snow. Kinnaird looked somewhat dubiously at the latter,
which seemed deep in the hollows.

"The snow will have gone once we get around the western shoulders," he
said. "It must be almost as near to get down from that side, and the
canoes will have gone on by now. Still, it's rather a long time since
breakfast."

He glanced at the girls, and appeared relieved when Ida said:

"I think we would better push on a little further before we stop for
lunch."

They plunged into a snow-drift to the knees, and when they had
floundered through it for thirty yards or so Weston sank suddenly well
over his waist. He flung himself forward, and with the help of
Kinnaird wriggled clear, but when they looked down there was empty
blackness beneath the hole he had made.

"It's a snow-bridge, I think, sir," he said. "The creek's running
under it. Anyway, I didn't touch anything solid with my feet."

Kinnaird's face grew graver.

"If you're right," he observed, "it would be wiser to work around."

They spent an hour doing it, and then, crossing knee-deep, they sat
down on a ledge of jutting rock while Weston laid out a simple meal.
It was very cold in the shadow of the peak, and a bitter wind that
seemed to be gathe