The spring of 1874 was retarded in the California sierras; so much so, that certain Eastern tourists who had early ventured into the Yo Semite Valley found themselves, one May morning, snow-bound against the tempestuous shoulders of El Capitan. So furious was the onset of the wind at the Upper Merced Canyon, that even so respectable a lady as Mrs. Rightbody was fain to cling to the neck of her guide to keep her seat in the saddle; while Miss Alice, scorning all masculine assistance, was hurled, a lovely chaos, against the snowy wall of the chasm. Mrs. Rightbody screamed; Miss Alice raged under her breath, but scrambled to her feet again in silence. “I told you so!” said Mrs. Rightbody, in an indignant whisper, as her daughter again ranged beside her. “I warned you especially, Alice--that--that--” “What?” interrupted Miss Alice curtly. “That you would need your chemiloons and high boots,” said Mrs. Rightbody, in a regretful undertone, slightly increasing her distance from the guides. Miss Alice shrugged her pretty shoulders scornfully, but ignored her mother's implication. “You were particularly warned against going into the valley at this season,” she only replied grimly. Mrs. Rightbody raised her eyes impatiently. “You know how anxious I was to discover your poor father's strange correspondent, Alice. You have no consideration.” “But when YOU HAVE discovered him--what then?” queried Miss Alice. “What then?” “Yes. My belief is, that you will find the telegram only a mere business cipher, and all this quest mere nonsense.” “Alice! Why, YOU yourself thought your father's conduct that night very strange. Have you forgotten?” The young lady had NOT, but, for some far-reaching feminine reason, chose to ignore it at that moment, when her late tumble in the snow was still fresh in her mind. “And this woman, whoever she may be--” continued Mrs. Rightbody. “How do you know there's a woman in the case?” interrupted Miss Alice, wickedly I fear. “How do--I--know--there's a woman?” slowly ejaculated Mrs. Rightbody, floundering in the snow and the unexpected possibility of such a ridiculous question. But here her guide flew to her assistance, and estopped further speech. And, indeed, a grave problem was before them. The road that led to their single place of refuge--a cabin, half hotel, half trading-post, scarce a mile away--skirted the base of the rocky dome, and passed perilously near the precipitous wall of the valley. There was a rapid descent of a hundred yards or more to this terrace-like passage; and the guides paused for a moment of consultation, cooly oblivious, alike to the terrified questioning of Mrs. Rightbody, or the half-insolent independence of the daughter. The elder guide was russet-bearded, stout, and humorous: the younger was dark-bearded, slight, and serious.