"This is literally walking with our heads in the clouds," muttered Steele grimly. "And this is the weather that'll pack the snow in this trail with a crust as hard as earth--ugh!" They ascended the trail laboriously, Steele in the lead, Ross lagging behind, leg-weary, and heavy-hearted at the thought of the months to come. Around the shoulder of the mountain they cautiously felt their way, the thick clouds about them seeming to press back the banks of snow above. Once on the safe trail beyond the shoulder Steele turned, and held out his hand without a word. Also wordless, Ross gripped it. Then the older man took the back trail, and disappeared. The boy stood where the other left him, staring into the clouds which hid the shoulder. As he stood, a slight breeze touched his cheek and died away. He buckled his snow-shoes on again, and faced Meadow Creek Valley. As he did so, the breeze came again. Presently it turned into a wind, and the clouds retreated hastily up the mountainside. Great flakes of snow filled the air. Faster and faster they came swirling down until the air was thick with a storm which cut sharply against Ross's face. He hurried on, and in an hour was beyond the reach of the storm in Weimer's shack, drying his wet coat and cap. He found his old partner half wild with anxiety. "If you did not come pack to-night," he cried, "I thought you would never! A plizzard ist now." So rejoiced was Uncle Jake at Ross's return that he sat near the fire and waxed garrulous while the wind lashed the trees and drove the snow outside; and Ross, the other side of the stove, shivered and listened listlessly. "What ails you, hein?" Weimer finally demanded. And Ross, with a lump in his throat of which he was not ashamed, told him. "Ach!" exclaimed Weimer disgustedly. He snapped his thumb and finger together. "I vas here dree vinters alone mit no one near. Py day I vorked. Py night dem volves howl und cayotes; but," consolingly, "dey can't git in, und dey vant nicht to git in." Then for the first time he went on to relate to Ross in his quaint and broken English many stories of those lonely winters in this solitary valley, which had then held him as its only inhabitant. "No wonder," thought Ross, listening to the fury of the storm, "that the old man's mind was ready to give away under the additional trial of an attack of snow-blindness." The blizzard continued in unabated fury all the next day. Neither Weimer nor Ross visited the tunnel. They remained housed, watching the snow gradually pile itself around the little shack until the two small windows were obscured, and they were obliged to resort to candle-light.