back.

"Go on with the packer," she said.

Kinnaird and Weston proceeded a little farther down the slope, which
was practicable, though very steep; and when Ida called them back,
Arabella smiled ruefully.

"It's horribly bruised, and I'm afraid I've twisted a ligament or
something of that kind," she said. "At least, I can't put any weight
on it."

There was an expressive silence for the next few moments, and Kinnaird
gazed down into the valley with consternation in his eyes. The sun had
dipped behind the peaks by this time, and the great hollow was growing
dim and hazy. The river was blotted out, and even the climbing forest
seemed indistinct.

"Could you get along on my arm?" he asked.

"No," said Arabella sharply, "I don't think I could put my foot on the
ground."

Weston said nothing, though he realized that the situation was
becoming serious. They had had no more than one hasty meal since early
morning, and they were worn out. It was also, as he knew, very cold up
on the hills at night. While he considered the matter, Kinnaird
stretched out a pointing hand.

"Look!" he said.

A trail of filmy vapor crawled out athwart the lower pines and covered
them as it rolled rapidly upward. While they watched it the depths of
the valley were filled and became a dim white plain that extended its
borders as it ascended. Long billows of vapor rolled out from its
edges and slid up the hollows, blotting out the somber ranks of
climbing pines one by one until all had gone and rock scarp and rugged
peak rose isolated from a vast sweep of mist. It crawled up the slope
where they sat, and then stopped and came no higher, leaving the
rampart of rock and snow behind them to glimmer coldly blue and gray
against the clear green radiance of the evening sky. Kinnaird looked
at Weston as if willing to entertain any suggestion.

"It's clear that we can't get down," he said.

Weston nodded.

"I fancy that I could reach the timber, sir," he said. "I'll bring up
a load of branches to make a fire."

He loosed the blankets from his shoulders, and floundering down the
slope was lost in the vapor.

CHAPTER V

IDA'S CONFIDENCE

An hour passed, and it was growing dark when Weston scrambled up the
hillside empty-handed.

"There's a slope between us and the timber, sir, that's too steep to
get down," he announced. "I worked along the edge of it until the
light failed me and the mist got very thick."

"You did quite righ