at
last she turned to Mrs. Adams and cried out: "I can't stand it, Peggy!
My foot pains me frightfully!"

Adams again called to Ward and the procession halted, while Ward came
back, all his anger gone.

"We'll go into camp," he said, as he examined her bruised foot. "You're
badly hurt."

"It's a poor place to camp, Professor," protested Gage. "If she can go
on for about fifteen minutes--"

"I'll try," she said; "but I can't bear the stirrup, and my shoe is full
of blood."

Ward, who was now keenly sympathetic, put her on his own horse and
walked beside her while they slowly crawled down into the small valley,
which held a deep and grassy tarn. Here they went into camp and the day
was lost.

Alice was profoundly mortified to find herself the cause of the untimely
halt, and as she watched the men making camp with anxious, irritated
faces she wept with shame of her folly. She had seized the worst
possible moment, in the most inaccessible spot of their journey, to
commit her crowning indiscretion.

She was ill in every nerve, shivering and weak, and remained for that
day the center of all the activities of the camp. Ward, very tender even
in his chagrin, was constantly at her side, his brow knotted with care.
He knew what it meant to be disabled two hundred miles from a hospital,
with fifty miles of mountain trail between one's need and a roof, but
Alice buoyed herself up with the belief that no bones were broken, and
that in the clear air of the germless world her wound would quickly
heal.

She lay awake a good part of that night, hearing, above the roar of the
water, the far-off noises of the wild-animal world. A wolf howled, a cat
screamed, and their voices were fear-inspiring.

She began also to worry about the effect of her mishap on the
expedition, for she heard Ward say to Adams: "This delay is very
unfortunate. Our stay is so limited. I fear we will not be able to
proceed for some days, and snow is likely to fall at any time."

What they said after that Alice could not hear, but she was in full
possession of their trouble. It was not a question of the loss of a few
days; it meant the possible failure of the entire attempt to reach the
summit.

"Peggy," she declared, next morning, "the men must push on and leave you
with me here in the camp. I will not permit the expedition to fail on my
account."

This seemed a heroic resolution at the moment, with the menacing sounds
of the night still fresh in he