Faster and faster the snow came down, until at last the whole air seemed full of it, and it was with difficulty that they could stagger forward.  Where the path led across open places the wind swept away the snow as fast as it fell, but in the hollows the track was already covered; and feeling the difficulty of facing the blinding gale, Cuthbert now understood the urgency with which his host had insisted upon the danger of losing the track.  Not a word was spoken among the party as they plodded along.  The guide kept ahead, using the greatest caution wherever the path was obliterated by the snow, sometimes even sounding with his iron-shod staff to be sure that they were upon the level rock.  In spite of his warm cloak Cuthbert felt that he was becoming chilled to the bone.  His horse could with difficulty keep his feet; and Cnut and the archers lagged behind.

“You must keep together, lads,” he shouted.  “I have heard that in these mountains when sleepiness overpowers the traveller, death is at hand.  Therefore, come what may, we must struggle on.”

Many times the gale was so violent that they were obliged to pause, and take shelter under the side of a rock or precipice, until the fury of the blast had passed; and Cuthbert eagerly looked out for the next refuge.  At last they reached it, and the guide at once entered.  It was not that in which he had intended to pass the night, for this lay still higher; but it would have been madness to attempt to go further in the face of such a gale.  He signed to Cuthbert that it was necessary at once to collect firewood, and he himself proceeded to light some brands which had been left by previous travellers.  Cuthbert gave directions to Cnut and the archers; and these, feeling that life depended upon a good fire being kept up, set to with a will, cutting down shrubs and branches growing in the vicinity of the hut.  In half an hour a huge fire blazed in the refuge; and as the warmth thawed their limbs, their tongues were unloosened, and a feeling of comfort again prevailed.

“If this be mountaineering, my lord,” Cnut said, “I trust that never again may it be my fortune to venture among the hills.  How long, I wonder, do the storms last here?  I was grumbling all the way up the hill at the load of provisions which the guide insisted that each of us should bring with him.  As it was to be but a three days’ journey before we reached a village on the other side, I wondered why he insisted upon our taking food enough to last us at least for a week.  But I understand now, and thank him for his foresight; for if this storm goes on, we are assuredly prisoners here for so long as it may continue.”

The horse had to be brought into the hut, for it would have been death for it to have remained outside.

“What is that?” Cnut said presently, as a distant howl was heard between the lulls of the storm.  The guide muttered some word, which Cuthbert did not understand.  But he said to Cnut, “I doubt not that it is wolves.  Thank God that we are safe within this refuge, for here not even the most ravenous beasts could make their way.”