“Do you mean the Limited is in danger?” she asked, springing and tripping to his stride.

And Banks nodded grimly.  “Yes, ma’am.  It’s a hard proposition, even to a man like Tisdale, who is used to breaking his own trail.  He knows he’s got to fight shy of the slides along that burned over switchback, but if he saw the box that train is in, he would just hike around to this side of the canyon, where the pitches are shorter, and the green trees stand some show to hold the snow, and work down to the old track to the Springs.”

“Is Mr. Tisdale"’—­her voice broke a little—­“Mr. Hollis Tisdale on that train?”

“Likely, yes.  He was snowbound on her in the Rockies, last I heard, and ‘feeling fit as a moose.’  Being penned up so long, he’d likely rather take a hike down to the hotel than not.  It would be good for his health.”  And the little man piped his high, mirthless laugh.

She stumbled, and he felt the hand in his tremble, but the abrupt incline of the glacier had opened before them, and he believed she dreaded to re-cross the ice.  “Keep cool,” he admonished, releasing her to uncoil the rope again, “Stand steady.  Just recollect if you came over this, you can get back.”

But when, presently, the difficult passage safely made, they rounded the crag and gained the level shoulder where they had lunched, they seemed to have arrived at a different place.  The lower canyon, which not two hours before had stretched into blue distance below them, was lost in the creeping sea of cloud; the abyss at their feet gathered immensity, and the top of the timbered ridge lifted midway like a strange, floating garden.  The station at Cascade tunnel, all the opposite mountain, was obscured, then, while Banks stood re-coiling his rope, the sounds that had disturbed the guests at Scenic Hot Springs those previous nights rose, reverberating, through the hidden gorge.  The Chinook had resumed its work.

The way below the spur broke in easy steps to the long and gradual slope that terminated above the cleaver of rock and, anxious to reach the unfortunate train, Banks hurried on.  Marcia and Elizabeth trailed quickly after, but Mrs. Weatherbee remained seated on the shelving ledge at the foot of the crag.  Frederic sank heavily into the place beside her and took out the flask.

“You are all in,” he said.  “Come, take this; it’s diluted this time with snow.”

But she gave him no attention, except to push aside the cup.  She waited, listening, leaning forward a little as though her wide eyes could penetrate the pall.  Then, torn by cross currents of wind, the cloud parted, and the mountain loomed like a phantom peak over the gulf.  She started up and stood swaying gently on her feet while the trees, tall and spectral and cloaked in snow, opened rank on rank like a uniformed company.  Lower still, the steep roofs of the station reflected a shaft of the sun, and the long line of cars appeared clearly defined, waiting still on the tracks outside the portal.