ained here another couple of hours, Miss
Wynton. Stampa tells me that a first rate _guxe_, which is Swiss for a
blizzard, I believe, is blowing up. This thunder storm is the
preliminary to a heavy downfall of snow. That is why I came. If we are
not off the glacier before two o'clock, it will become impassable till
a lot of the snow melts."

"What is that you are saying?" demanded Bower bruskly. Helen and the
two men had reached the level of the _cabane_; but Stampa, thinking
they would all enter, kept in the rear, "If that fairy tale accounts
for your errand, you are on a wild goose chase, Mr. Spencer."

He had not heard the American's words clearly; but he gathered
sufficient to account for the younger man's motive in following them,
and was furiously annoyed by this unlooked for interruption. He had no
syllable of thanks for a friendly action. Though no small risk
attended the crossing of the Forno during a gale, it was evident he
strongly resented the presence of both Spencer and the guide.

Helen, after her first eager outburst, was tongue tied. She saw that
her would-be rescuers were dripping wet, and was amazed that Bower
should greet them so curtly, though, to be sure, she believed
implicitly that the storm would soon pass. Stampa was already inside
the hut. He was haranguing Barth and the porter vehemently, and they
were listening with a curious submissiveness.

Spencer was the most collected person present. He brushed aside
Bower's acrimony as lightly as he had accepted Helen's embarrassed
explanation. "This is not my hustle at all," he said. "Stampa heard
that his adored _signorina_----"

"Stampa! Is that Stampa?"

Bower's strident voice was hushed to a hoarse murmur. It reminded one
of his hearers of a growling dog suddenly cowed by fear. Helen's ears
were tuned to this perplexing note; but Spencer interpreted it
according to his dislike of the man.

"Stampa heard," he went on, with cold-drawn precision, "that Miss
Wynton had gone to the Forno. He is by far the most experienced guide
to be found on this side of the Alps, and he believes that anyone
remaining up here to-day will surely be imprisoned in the hut a week
or more by bad weather. In fact, even now an hour may make all the
difference between danger and safety. Perhaps you can convince him he
is wrong. I know nothing about it, beyond the evidence of my senses,
backed up by some acquaintance with blizzards. Anyhow, I am inclined
to think that