Ross walked after Miller easily. Those past few days on the mountainsides had accustomed him to the use of snow-shoes. Almost in silence they crossed the valley and began the ascent of what remained of Soapweed Ledge. During the last hour the light had faded, and snow began to fill the air. From the base of the ledge the cabin on the other valley was barely visible, and Ross could scarcely make out the figures standing in front of the door. Suddenly Miller turned with an exclamation. "There! I forgot something that I wanted t' tell Uncle Jake. Wait here a minute, will ye? It'll not take me long t' go back." He walked rapidly over the snow across the valley, and disappeared into the cabin. Five minutes passed. He reappeared, and made his way more slowly back again. "All right," he shouted from the foot of the ledge. "Turn to the right, and go along above them rocks. That's the trail." At the top of the mountain Miller again took the lead. He had shifted the pouch to the front, and eased its weight with one hand. Ross noticed that it seemed much heavier than when he entered the cabin, but thought nothing further of the matter. Half an hour later he was on totally unfamiliar ground among a labyrinth of "sugar loaf" peaks which they skirted and climbed, Miller pushing on steadily and without words. "Hold yer wind," he directed Ross; "ye'll have need of it before we reach camp." The sky and earth were nearly blotted out now by the falling snow. Ross could see scarcely a dozen paces ahead. He could not tell whether they were headed east or west, north or south. They twisted and turned and turned again. The boy became leg-weary; but Miller pressed on, seemingly unexhausted, the heavy game pouch dragging at his shoulder. "We--we can't reach there to-night, can we?" Ross gasped at last. Miller turned his head but did not pause. "Yep," he answered, "about dark." Again in silence they went on. Finally, at five o'clock, they began to climb the gentle slope of a mountain which seemed to have no summit. Here for the first time his guide stopped to allow Ross to rest. Then he advanced slowly, step by step, prodding the snow deeply at the left of the blind trail he was following. "What's the matter?" Ross called the first time he saw Miller taking measure of the snow in this way. "Gorge somewhere here," Miller had replied. "Wind's filled it up even from bank t' bank. If we sh' step off--why, there's a hundred feet or so below made up of spruces and snow. I don't want t' go down int' no such landscape." Ross involuntarily hugged the upper side of the mountain. He longed for their journey's end. As they neared the top, the wind became active, cutting their faces and forcing Ross to turn his back and gasp for breath. Then came the descent, the storm thickening about them. Occasionally Miller threw a direction or a warning over his shoulder, which always caused Ross's heart to leap fearfully.