his he discarded two bottles of claret and another of
port, with their wrappings of straw, a steamer-rug, some tins of pate de
foie gras and other sundries that made for weight, but which the
capitalist had considered essential to the comfort and success of the
expedition. There still remained a well-stocked hamper, including thermos
bottles of coffee and tea, and a second rug, which he rolled snugly in the
oilskin cover and secured with shoulder-straps. The eliminated articles,
that he cached under a log, were not missed until luncheon, which was
served on a high, spur below the summit while Banks was absent making a
last reconnaissance, and Frederic blamed the packer.

The spur was flanked above by a craggy buttress and broke below to an
abyss which was divided by a narrow, tongue-like ridge, and over this, on
a lower level of the opposite peak, appeared the steep roofs of the
mountain station at the entrance to Cascade tunnel, where, on the tracks
outside the portal, stood the stalled train. It seemed within speaking
distance in that rare atmosphere, though several miles intervened.

After a while sounds of metal striking ice came from a point around the
buttress; Banks was cutting steps. Then, following a silence, he appeared.
But, on coming into the sunny westward exposure, he stopped, and with two
fingers raised like a weather-vane, stood gazing down the canyon. His eyes
began to scintillate like chippings of blue glacier.

Involuntarily every one turned in that direction, and Frederic reached to
take his field-glasses from the shelf of the buttress they had converted
into a table. But he saw nothing new to hold the attention except three or
four gauzy streamers of smoke or vapor that floated in the lower gorge.

"Looks like a train starting up," he commented, "but the Limited gets the
right of way as soon as there's a clear track."

Banks dropped his hand and moved a few steps to take the glasses from
Morganstein. "You're right," he replied in his high, strained key. "It
ain't any train moving; it's the Chinook waking up." He focussed on the
Oriental Limited, then slowly swept the peak that overtopped the cars.
"Likely they dasn't back her into the tunnel," he said. "The bore is long
enough to take in the whole bunch, but if a slide toppled off that
shoulder, it would pen 'em in and cut off the air. It looks better
outside, my, yes."

"Here is your coffee, Mr. Banks," said Elizabeth, who had filled a cup
fro