large bottle.

They drank a little, all except Sylvia, and ate heartily. The last touch
of cold departed, and the fire still sparkled with good cheer, casting
its comforting shadows across the stained floor.

"I've brought in the horse-blankets," said the guide, "an' with them
under us, our overcoats over us, an' the fire afore us, we ought to
sleep here as snug an' warm as a beaver in its house."

Sylvia was accustomed to camping in the mountains, and made no fuss, but
quietly leaned back against the saddle and the wall, and drew her heavy
cloak around her. She was soon half asleep, and the flames, moving off
into the distance, seemed to be dancing about in a queer, light-minded
fashion.

Harley walked to the window and looked out. The night was black, save
for the driving snow, and when he glanced back at the room it seemed a
very haven of delight. But the strangeness of their situation, the weird
effect of the dead city, with the ghost-like shapes of its houses
showing through the snow, was upon his nerves, and he did not feel
sleepy.

Muttering some excuse to the others, he went into the hall. It was dark,
and a gust of cold air from the open window at the end struck him in the
face. At the same moment Harley saw what he took to be a light farther
down the hall, but when he looked again it was gone.

It might be a delusion, but the matter troubled him; if a lone tramp or
miner were in the building, he wished to know. Any stranger would have a
right in the hotel, but there was comradeship and welcome in Jimmy
Grayson's party.

Harley's instinct said that all was not right, and, taking off his
boots, he crept down the hall and among the cross-halls with noiseless
feet. He did not see the light again, but he heard in another room the
hum of voices, softened so that they might not reach any one save those
for whom they were intended. But they reached Harley, crouching just
behind the edge of the door, and, hearing, he shuddered. A great danger
threatened the nominee for the Presidency of the United States. Such a
thing as the present had never before happened in the history of the
country.

And that same danger, but in a worse form, perhaps, threatened Sylvia.
It was not Harley's fault that a girl had then a greater place than a
Presidential nominee in his mind. He shuddered, and then closed his lips
firmly in resolve.

The door was still on its hinges, and it was still slightly ajar.
Harley, peeping throug