"What?" I exclaimed.
But Tawannears nodded.
"True. Corlaer is right, Otetiani. If there is a pass, the wild things must know of it. We have only to watch them."
"But it is quite probable that in this weather no pass will be practicable, especially for animals," I objected.
"Spbring is coming soon," replied the Dutchman.
"We have only to wait and watch," added Tawannears.
I had to admit that they were right. And when the storm blew itself out two days later, having doubled the mountains' snow blanket, we abandoned our frontal attack upon the barrier in favor of a reconnaissance of its approaches. For a week we pushed on south through the foothills, and were finally forced to a halt by a spur-range, which ran eastward. Manifestly, 'twas a waste of time to envelop this, and we retraced our steps again, by no means so confident that Corlaer's suggestion had been as canny as we first supposed, for we had seen not a single indication that the animals were entering or leaving the higher altitudes.
But at the end of this week a thaw set in which continued from day to day. The hillsides were soon running with tiny rivulets. The snow underfoot was soggy, and packed hard. The avalanches were worse than ever. Every hour or two there would be a rip and a roar and a swish of breaking trees, and bowlders and pebbles would rain down upon us. It was one of these slides which was instrumental in showing us a way across the barrier. We had abandoned our set path, and hugged the protecting face of a high cliff, knowing any slide that topped it would over-shoot us, when a mountain sheep came bounding out of a little gulley we had passed without paying it any special notice.
Corlaer raised his arm, and pointed.
"'Tis the first animal we've seen as high as this," I admitted.