were constantly increasing. The wet snow
steaming on their sides sapped the vitality of the horses; to keep them
at a fair pace required a constant stream of nervous energy on the part
of their riders. Virginia found it almost impossible to dodge the
snow-laden branches. They would slap snow into her face, down her neck
and into her sleeves: it sifted into her eyes and hair and chilled her
hands until they ached. The waterproof garments that she wore were
priceless after the first mile.

Lounsbury had an even more trying time. His clothes soaked through at
once, and the piercing, biting cold of the northern fall went into him.
He was drenched, shivering, incoherent with wrath when they stopped for
noon. He was not enough of a sportsman to take the consequences of his
arrogance in good spirit. He didn't know the meaning of that ancient
law,--that men must take the responsibility of their own deeds and
with good spirit pay for their mistakes. He didn't know how to smile at
the difficulties that confronted him. That ancient code of
self-mastery, of taking the bitter medicine of life without complaint
clear to the instant of death was far beyond his grasp. "You've made
everything just as hard for us as you could," he stormed at Bill. "If I
ever get back alive I'll get your guide's license snatched away from you
if I never do another thing. You don't know how to guide or pick a
trail. You brought us out here to bleed us. And you'll pay for it when
I get back."

Bill scarcely seemed to hear. He went on with his work, but when the
simple meal was over and the packing half done, he made his answer. He
drew a cloth sack from one of the packs, swung it on his shoulder, and
stepped over to Lounsbury's side.

"There's a couple of things I want to tell you," he began. He spoke in
a quiet voice, so that Virginia could not hear.

Lounsbury looked up with a scowl. "I don't know that I want to hear
them."

"I know you don't want to hear 'em, but you are going to hear 'em just
the same. I want to tell you that first I'm doing everything any human
being can to make you more comfortable. You can't take Morris chairs
along on a pack train. You can't take electric stoves, and you can't
boss the weather. It's your own fault you didn't provide yourself with
proper clothes. And I'm tired of hearing you yelp."

Lounsbury tried to find some crushing remark in reply. He only
sputtered.

"I can only stand so much, a