nose to the ground and ran forward a few paces, then he
returned and ran about snuffing and scraping up the snow. At last he
looked up, and uttered a long melancholy howl.

"Ah! I knowed it," said Dick, pushing forward. "Come on, pup, you'll
have to _follow_ now. Any way we must go on."

The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer the slightest
obstruction to their advance. It was, indeed, only one of those
occasional showers common to that part of the country in the late
autumn, which season had now crept upon Dick almost before he was aware
of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a few days. In
this hope he kept steadily advancing, until he found himself in the
midst of those rocky fastnesses which divide the waters that flow into
the Atlantic from those that flow into the Pacific Ocean. Still the
slight crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means of knowing
whether he was going in the right direction or not.

Game was abundant, and there was no lack of wood now, so that his night
bivouac was not so cold or dreary as might have been expected.

Travelling, however, had become difficult, and even dangerous, owing to
the rugged nature of the ground over which he proceeded. The scenery
had completely changed in its character. Dick no longer coursed over
the free, open plains, but he passed through beautiful valleys filled
with luxuriant trees, and hemmed in by stupendous mountains, whose
rugged sides rose upward until the snow-clad peaks pierced the clouds.

There was something awful in these dark solitudes, quite overwhelming to
a youth of Dick's temperament; his heart began to sink lower and lower
every day, and the utter impossibility of making up his mind what to do
became at length agonising. To have turned and gone back the hundreds
of miles over which he had travelled would have caused him some anxiety
under any circumstances, but to do so while Joe and Henri were either
wandering about there or in the power of the savages, was, he felt, out
of the question. Yet, in which way should he go? Whatever course he
took might lead him further and further away from them.

In this dilemma he came to the determination of remaining where he was,
at least until the snow should leave the ground.

He felt great relief even when this hopeless course was decided upon,
and set about making himself an encampment with some degree of
cheerfulness. When he had completed this task,