However, nearness depended not so much on miles as on accessibility, and for the thousandth time Ross wondered where he was. He could not reason from the memory of the tortuous windings of that stormy afternoon's journey, with no view of the sun's face to guide him; but his strong impression was that he was many miles northwest of Meadow Creek, with at least three chains of peaks between him and Weimer. Then he fell to wondering again about the shack. Did it belong to one of the McKenzie relatives? Who had given it over to his use for the winter? He suspected that, while the furnishings and the clothing had been left there by the owner, the McKenzies had planned for his winter's residence, and had partially, at least, stocked his larder, as the owner would not be likely to desert such a supply of meat, especially the fresh venison. Perhaps the venison was due to Weston's forethought. Ross liked to think that Weston had done all that he dared do for the comfort of "Doc Tenderfoot." "He's a bigger man," mused "Doc"; "and yet he seems more than half afraid of Sandy. Wonder what the trouble is." That night the wind changed, the temperature dropped, and the next morning snow began to fall, lightly, however. Again and again Ross went out for trial trips on the fast freezing crust, but not until afternoon did he venture on the journey to the cliff. The shack stood among the trees on the mountainside about ten feet above the level of the canon. Taking with him a long pole with a sharpened end, which he found in the shack, Ross slid from tree to tree until he gained the level of the canon. Then, hugging the foot of the mountain closely, that he might judge of the lay of the land by the trees, and so avoid the dreaded creeks and gorges, he turned down the canon toward the cliff. It was difficult walking, the crust being smooth and slippery. Several times one foot broke through, and each time Ross's heart seemed to rise in his throat when he considered that he was walking on a body of snow deeper than he was high. The canon had no distinguishing features. It might have been any one of a dozen located among the Shoshones, and all of them unfamiliar to the young man lost in their midst. On either side, the mountains, dreary and lonely and lifeless, arose precipitately. It was windless in the canon, but on top of the mountains a white, cold cloud of snow played perpetually. But Ross's eyes were eagerly searching the mountain at the left for the cliff; and presently he recognized it despite the curtain of snow drifting across its face. There it was, stretching up until his neck ached in the effort to scan the top, where in an unbroken line along the edge hung a great body of snow, the undisturbed accumulations of the last blizzard. The steep side of the cliff, however, was bare, and Ross failed to discover a rope dangling over its surface. [Illustration: THE SNOW HID IT FROM VIEW]