It was after three when they left the tent and started down the trail, carrying nothing but a few toilet articles. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. "Should we have left a note for the Supervisor?" She pointed to their footprints. "There's all the writing he needs," she assured him, leading the way at a pace which made him ache. She plashed plumply into the first puddle in the path. "No use dodging 'em," she called over her shoulder, and he soon saw that she was right. The trees were dripping, the willows heavy with water, and the mud ankle-deep--in places--but she pushed on steadily, and he, following in her tracks, could only marvel at her strength and sturdy self-reliance. The swing of her shoulders, the poise of her head, and the lithe movement of her waist, made his own body seem a poor thing. For two hours they zigzagged down a narrow cañon heavily timbered with fir and spruce--a dark, stern avenue, crossed by roaring streams, and filled with frequent boggy meadows whereon the water lay mid-leg deep. "We'll get out of this very soon," she called, cheerily. By degrees the gorge widened, grew more open, more genial. Aspen thickets of pale-gold flashed upon their eyes like sunlight, and grassy bunches afforded firmer footing, but on the slopes their feet slipped and slid painfully. Still Berea kept her stride. "We must get to the middle fork before dark," she stopped to explain, "for I don't know the trail down there, and there's a lot of down timber just above the station. Now that we're cut loose from our camp I feel nervous. As long as I have a tent I am all right; but now we are in the open I worry. How are you standing it?" She studied him with keen and anxious glance, her hand upon his arm. "Fine as a fiddle," he replied, assuming a spirit he did not possess, "but you are marvelous. I thought cowgirls couldn't walk?" "I can do anything when I have to," she replied. "We've got three hours more of it." And she warningly exclaimed: "Look back there!" They had reached a point from which the range could be seen, and behold it was covered deep with a seamless robe of new snow. "That's why dad didn't get back last night. He's probably wallowing along up there this minute." And she set off again with resolute stride. Wayland's pale face and labored breath alarmed her. She was filled with love and pity, but she pressed forward desperately. As he grew tired, Wayland's boots, loaded with mud, became fetters, and every slope greasy with mire seemed an almost insurmountable barricade. He fell several times, but made no outcry. "I will not add to her anxiety," he said to himself.