The air was wet, cool, refreshing. I looked about. In places the slopes were visible as far as the timberline and even before. In others the gray pall remained. Somewhere out of it I heard a voice calling my name, more loudly with each repetition. My eyes tried to bore through the haze and shortly a stocky figure detached itself from it, coming towards me. It was Johnny Eagle, his eyes more luminous than I had ever seen them. "I've found the Twins," he said simply and plunged back into the mist with me close behind. I stumbled eagerly up the slope for nearly two hundred yards. Johnny Eagle was standing on a boulder, pointing north through a great break in the low ceiling of cloud. I looked, my heart racing wildly. There they were towering in the sky, the Twins, as similar as though they were a double image seen in a badly focussed lens. I judged them to be three miles off. I yelled for Johnny to stay put while I scrambled down the slope, ripping my pants and scraping my knees as my legs gave way under me in a patch of loose scree. Back at the plane I found the pilot putting up a makeshift antenna. "Get Burns Lake quick," I ordered between gasps. "Ask for Armstrong." Armstrong was elated but grimly realistic. "This must be it, Arnold; it has to be." I knew what he meant. This was our last lead; there wouldn't be time for more. Armstrong asked whether I could move out up to the peaks and radio a report to him. I looked out of the cabin ports. Night had fallen quickly, but in the cloud blankets the clefts were widening to let feeble patches of starlight show through. "I'll start right away," I assured Armstrong. "It's clearing here." Johnny Eagle scouted around the lake till he found a stream flowing from the direction of the Twin Peaks. With it as a guide we set off, panting as we stumbled, slipped, crawled along and wincing as needle-pointed evergreens stung our faces. Sometimes the stream twisted out of sight, but Johnny pushed on with the ancient woodland canniness of the great Frog tribe. There were times, though, when this mystic sense deserted him and we stood perplexed and barely visible to each other a foot away. We waited, then, for some sudden glimmer to reveal our guiding stream. * * * * * My weary legs soon told me my estimate of four miles to the Twins was way off. About midnight we broke out of the forest wilderness high up on the timber line. The night was brilliantly clear by this time; sharply etched shadows of dark pines lay about us. Towering into the starry skies were our Peaks, their upper reaches capped with snow, with here and there a thick dark scar where a fissure lay in shadow. For the first time I saw the Twins were joined, Siamese-wise, by a low truncated mass.