ight across a snow-field that hugged the edge of
a cliff which dropped sheer five hundred feet to the water, another to
the left over slippery heather which threatened a slide and a casualty
at every step. The Woodsman had left no blazes, there being no tree to
mark. Holding on by clutching to the heather with our hands, we debated.
Finally, we chose the left-hand route as the one they had probably
taken. But when we reached the top, the Woodsman and the Little Boy were
not there. We hallooed, but there was no reply. And, suddenly, the
terrible silence of the mountains seemed ominous. Had they ventured
across the snow-bank and slipped?

I am not ashamed to say that, sitting on my horse on the top of that
mountain-wall, I proceeded to have a noiseless attack of hysterics.
There were too many chances of accident for any of the party to take the
matter lightly. There we gathered on that little mountain meadow, not
much bigger than a good-sized room, and waited. There was snow and ice
and silence everywhere. Below, Doubtful Lake lay like a sapphire set in
granite, and far beneath it lay the valley from which we had climbed the
day before. But no one cared for scenery.

Then it was that "Silent Lawrie" turned his horse around and went back.
Soon he hallooed, and, climbing back to us, reported that they had
crossed the ice-bank. He had found the marks of the axe making
footholds. And soon afterward there was another halloo from below, and
the missing ones rode into sight. They were blithe and gay. They had
crossed the ice-field and had seen a view which they urged we should not
miss. But I had had enough view. All I wanted was the level earth. There
could be nothing after that flat enough to suit me.

Sliding, stumbling, falling, leading our scrambling horses, we got down
the wall on the other side. It was easier going, but slippery with
heather and that green moss of the mountains, which looks so tempting
but which gives neither foothold nor nourishment. Then, at last, the
pass.

It was thirty-six hours since our horses had had anything to eat. We had
had food and sleep, but during the entire night the poor animals had
been searching those rocky mountain-sides for food and failing to find
it. They stood in a dejected group, heads down, feet well braced to
support their weary bodies.

But last summer was not a normal one. Unusually heavy snowfalls the
winter before had been followed by a late, cold spring. The snow was