"He had been hauling the sled along, while all I had to carry was the gun and ammunition. Now he said that I had better leave my snow-shoes on top of the cliff and tie the end of the rope around my waist and he would let me down to the ledge. That I was to kick clear of snow and then go up the canon and get you to come down and help heave the sled over and get it down to the canon. He said you would know better than I how to do that. He kept giving me directions about where to find the cabin, for the snow had thickened until we couldn't see the ledge, to say nothing of the canon. You see, Ross, I'll confess I was too nervous about going over into space attached to that rope to think that his proceeding was queer. I just didn't question a thing, but shut my eyes and went over. It didn't occur to me to wonder why my snow-shoes, instead of that gun, weren't tied on my shoulders. Well, I struck the ledge and untied the rope and felt my way along that ticklish shelf until the squall lifted and then--you know the rest. If I live to be a hundred I'll never forget how I felt when that rope was drawn up and he yelled down that I was to tell you I was in the same boat that you were!" It was late and Leslie was too tired to talk longer. Ross gave him the bunk and, waiting only long enough to fill the stove with wood, close the draughts and blow out the candles, wrapped up in a blanket and lay down beside the stove, his coat for a pillow. He did not fall asleep at once, but lay staring up at the flicker of firelight dancing about on the mud-chinked logs overhead. After all his planning and working, he thought, his mission in the mountains was doomed to failure. The claims would pass into the McKenzies' hands, and, besides, he would have missed one year of the preparation for the work he had chosen. He rolled over and half groaned. "Awake, Ross?" came from the bunk. "I'm so tired I haven't dropped off yet and, besides--say, Ross, here I am and there's dad waiting for me to turn up with that missing five hundred--and then your claims--we're not exactly in luck, are we? I feel as though I'd like to get my hands on that Weston-Miller fellow's throat." "There's one thing I can do, though--study," muttered Ross. "That I've got to hold myself to." Conversation languished then, and both boys fell asleep, Ross's last thought being of Weimer watching for their return in the lonely valley of Meadow Creek. By daylight the following morning the two were up, full of plans for living and doing during the long months of their imprisonment. "There are some nails, but no hammer," said Ross. "But we can drive 'em with a stick of wood and fix up another bunk out of these two boxes. They're the longest, and I think they'll fill the bill for my five feet ten. Then we'll divide the straw and the blankets, and by keeping up the fire all night, I guess we won't freeze to death."