But the next day Felton and his wife found tracks and hunting and a good day of it, and so night found them still in the cabin. At eight o'clock in the evening Felton went out and looked about. There was a great ring around the moon, and the stars had a dim look, not like their usual story. "It looks like the sky over Chicago," Felton muttered. He slept uneasily and was awake at daylight looking anxiously from the cabin door. The earth had changed. The universe was white. The earth was white and the air was white. He leaped back into the cabin. Breakfast over, the man who had forced himself to eat, said: "Get a day's food, Kate, and get on your hunting dress, with thick garments under it, as quickly as you can." She did as he told her and he made swiftly a back load of the provisions and her skirt and two great blankets. Well knew he that they must reach Parson's Camp or be lost. They plunged into the whiteness. They must cross the billowy tongue of high land up and down lying between the two forks of the great canyon. Across this mesa ran a rude trail which none knew better than did Felton, but to feel and keep it with this white shroud of snow upon the ground and in the air was a feat almost impossible. They plunged ahead into the white depths, for the wind had made the snow deep in the opening, and this depth, while it retarded their progress, was after all a godsend. It aided Felton in keeping the trail. What need to tell of the details of that awful day? Darkness was falling when Felton carried an exhausted and senseless woman into Parson's Camp. There was no one there. Felton struck a match and found a half-burned candle. He gave his wife whiskey and water and, later, food, and she was soon herself, for the trouble was but exhaustion. Then Felton sat down upon a chair and figured the thing out aloud. [Illustration: "THEY PLUNGED INTO THE WHITENESS"] "They thought we'd gone and so did not pay any attention to us. They had sense enough to skip in time." His wife was up and beside him now. "What of it?" she said, "we have shelter and warmth, and when it stops snowing perhaps we can dig out"--seeing his face, she added--"anyway we'll be rescued, somehow." Her husband laughed, agreeingly. "Of course," he said, "we're all right." Then he began looking around for food. He found in one corner a bushel of potatoes and hanging beside a bunk of shelves where the cook had kept his dishes, there was a good part of a dried deer's ham. Standing on a chair he peered over the top of the shelves. There was nothing there. "We shall have to live on dried venison and potatoes," he said. "They seem to have left most of their stuff on top here," and the lady was content. "We'll have venison in all sorts of ways," she commented. "Here's some salt," and she held up a little bag she had found on the floor.