y in
his mind. He was sorry now that they had let Sylvia come, and he
silently called himself a weak fool.

"Shall we reach Crow's Wing by dark?" asked the candidate of the guide.

Jim had risen, and, standing at the edge of the cove, was gazing out
over the rolling sea of mountains. Harley noticed a troubled look on his
face.

"If things go right we kin," he replied, "but I ain't shore that things
will go right."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you see that brown spot down there in the southwest, just a-top the
hills? Waal, it's a cloud, an' it's comin' this way. Clouds, you know,
always hev somethin' in 'em."

"That is to say we shall have rain," said the candidate. "Let it come.
We have been rained on too often to mind such a little thing--eh,
Sylvia? You see, I take you at your word."

The girl nodded.

"I don't think it'll be rain," said the guide. "We are so high up here
that more 'n likely it'll be snow. An' when there's a snow-storm in the
mountains you can't go climbin' along the side o' cliffs."

The others, too, looked grave now. Perhaps, with the exception of "King"
Plummer, they had not foreseen such a difficulty, but the guide came to
their relief with more cheering words--after all, the cloud might not
continue to grow, "an' it ain't worth while to holler afore we're hit."

This seemed sound philosophy to the others, and, dismissing their cares,
they started again, much refreshed by their stop in the little cove. The
road now grew rougher, the guide leading and the rest following in
single-file, Sylvia just ahead of Harley. By-and-by their cares
returned. Harley glanced towards the southwest and saw there the same
cloud, but now much bigger, blacker, and more threatening. The sunshine
was gone, and the wrinkled surface of the mountains was gray and sombre.
The air had grown cold, and down among the clefts there was a weird,
moaning wind. Harley glanced at the guide, and noticed that his face was
now decidedly anxious. But the correspondent said nothing. Part of his
strength lay in his ability to wait, and he knew that the guide would
speak in good time.

"Don't any of you be discouraged because of me," said Sylvia; "I'm not
afraid of storms--even snowstorms. Am I not a good mountaineer, daddy?"

The "King" nodded his head. He knew that she was a better mountaineer
than any in the party except the guide and himself, and he felt less
alarm for her than was in the mind of Grayson or Harley.

But H