in the guide's
reply save the fact that the town was only two miles away; any shelter
would be welcome, because he saw now that a snow-storm on the wild
mountains was a terrible thing.

The guide led on; Jimmy Grayson, with bent head, followed; Mr.
Heathcote, shrunk in his saddle, came next; then "King" Plummer; and
after him Sylvia and Harley, who were as nearly side by side as the
narrow path would permit.

"It won't be far, Miss Morgan," said Harley; the others could not hear.

She felt rather than heard the note of apprehension in his voice, and
she knew it was for her. A thrill of singular sweetness passed over her.
It was pleasant for some one, _the_ one, to be afraid for her sake. She
looked out at the driving snow and the dim peaks, but she had no fear
for herself. She was glad, too, that she had come.

"I know the way of the mountains," she replied. "The guide will take us
in safety to this city of his, of which he speaks so highly."

Harley saw her smile through the snow. The others rode on before, heads
bowed, and did not look back. He and she felt a powerful sense of
comradeship, and once, when he leaned over to detach her bridle rein
from the horse's mane, he touched her hand, which was so soft and warm.
Again the electric thrill passed through them both, and they looked into
each other's eyes.

Now and then the vast veil of snow parted before the wind, as if cleft
down the centre by a sword-blade, and Harley and Sylvia beheld a grand
and awful sight. Before them were all the peaks and ridges, rising in
white cones and pillars against the cloudy sky, and the effect was of
distance and sublimity. From the clefts and ravines came a desolate
moaning. Harley felt that he was much nearer to the eternal here than he
could ever be in the plains. Then the rent veil would close again, and
he saw only his comrades and the rocks twenty feet away.

They turned around the base of a cliff rising hundreds of feet above
them, and Harley caught the dull-red glare of brick walls, showing
through the falling snow. He was ready to raise a shout of joy. This he
knew was Queen City, lying snugly in its wide valley. There was the
typical, single mountain street, with its row of buildings on either
side; the big one near-by was certainly the hotel, and the other big one
farther on was as certainly the opera-house. But nobody was in the
streets, and the whole place was dark; not a light appeared at a single
window, although