After a weary time she came to the base of the cliffs.  Gratton was not a dozen paces from her.  He looked to her like a sick man, gaunt, hollow-eyed; unkempt, unshaven, as she had never seen him before, he was like some caricature of the immaculate Gratton of San Francisco.  He did not move but looked at her in a strange, bewildered fashion.  Plainly he had had no knowledge of her being here; he could not explain her presence; he was every whit as dumbfounded as he would have been had she dropped down upon him out of the sky.  Seeing that he made no attempt to move, she started to come to him.  She was standing upon a rock; she stepped off into the snow, and in a flash had sunk to her breast.  A cry broke from her as thus, for the first time in her life, she learned what it was to seek to force a way through deep, loose-drifted snow.  Feather-light in its individual flakes, in mass it made haste impossible; to push on six inches through it was labour; to come a dozen paces to Gratton was hard work.  She floundered as she had seen him flounder; she threw herself forward as he had done, and, sinking with every effort, at last reached his side.

“It’s you—­Gloria Gaynor!” he muttered.  “But I don’t understand.”

“I came with Mark King.  The storm caught us.  Just as it caught you.  But you must come with me; if you lie here you will be chilled; you will freeze.  Later we can tell each other everything.”

He shook his head.  “I can’t,” he groaned.  “I am more dead than alive, I tell you.  I have been living through days and nights of hell; hell populated by raging demons.  I have been since before dawn getting here.”  He cast a bleak look up along the cliffs and shuddered.  “I’d rather lie here and die than attempt it.”

Once more Gloria was urging and pleading.  But in the end she gave over hopelessly, seeing that Gratton would not budge.  And it was so clear to her that he would perish if he lay here.

“There’s a hole in the cliffs just yonder,” Gratton said drearily.  “God knows what wild beasts may be in it.  But I was going to crawl in there when you called.”

Then Gloria saw for the first time the opening to that cave which in Gus Ingle’s Bible had been set down as Caive number one.  It was almost directly under King’s cave, at the base of the cliffs.  The snow came close to concealing it entirely; as it was, just a ragged black hole showed a couple of feet above the snow-line.

“Come, then,” she said.  “Let’s see if it’s big enough for a shelter.  It may do as well as the other.”

Gratton heaved himself up with a groan.  Gloria did not wait for him, but began the tedious breaking of a path the few feet to the hole, too earnest in the endeavour even to note how Gratton came along behind without suggesting that it was the man’s place to break trail.  Thus Gloria came first to the lower cave.  She hesitated and listened, her fancies stimulated by his suggestion of storm-driven animals,