Ross nodded. "Several times a lot of snow dropped on me; once I almost lost my balance." Steele moved uneasily. "That's the trouble with that trail even before there's danger of a regular avalanche. You're likely to get swept over when you least expect it, and going back is worse than coming." Directly after dinner Ross commenced to bind on his snow-shoes for an early departure, having filled his pockets with candy for Weimer. His heart was heavy, and he had a queer, choky sensation as he looked around the little shack, which he might not see again in months. Steele was adjusting the straps on his own snow-shoes. "Going up the canon with me, are you?" asked Ross. Steele nodded, and got into his top-coat. "A little way," he answered briefly. Although it was only one o'clock in the afternoon, twilight had fallen. The clouds rolled up the canon so low that they hung almost within reach of the men's hands, although not much snow was yet falling. An indescribable gloom filled the canon, the gloom of utter isolation and loneliness. Not a breath of wind was stirring; not a movement of a tree was audible. Everywhere were the deep snow, the silent trees, the great white hulks of the mountains; and over all the clouds glowered sullenly. Nature had erected sudden and impenetrable barriers in all directions, and Ross felt as though he were striving against them all. In silence the two traveled the distance which lay between Gale's Ridge and the upper end of Miners' Camp, which was at present a deserted end. When they passed out of sight of the eating house on Gale's Ridge, they left behind them every sign of life. The Mountain Company had shut down two weeks before. A few men had gone to Steele, but the majority had betaken themselves "below." Their shacks stood as the owners had left them, with their stoves, their crude furniture, and in some cases provisions, intact. The stage was due now only once a week, and the post-office had been removed to Steele's cabin. The former postmaster had gone to work on a ranch on the Grey Bull, leaving the post-office doors wide open, the snow filling the cabin and banking up against the letter boxes. "By April," said Steele, "you can't see even the roof of a single one of these places down here next the river. They'll all be plumb covered with snow." Steele did not stop, as Ross supposed he would, at the foot of Crosby, but started up the trail. "Where are you going?" demanded the boy. The superintendent went on. His reply came back muffled by the heavy air. "Around the shoulder of this little hill." Nor could any protest from Ross restrain him. As they began the ascent, Ross found the moisture hanging in drops to his clothing, while his face felt as though it were being bathed in ice-water. At the same time the clouds settled all about them.