The superintendent went on. His reply came back muffled by the heavy air. "Around the shoulder of this little hill."
Nor could any protest from Ross restrain him.
As they began the ascent, Ross found the moisture hanging in drops to his clothing, while his face felt as though it were being bathed in ice-water. At the same time the clouds settled all about them.
"This is literally walking with our heads in the clouds," muttered Steele grimly. "And this is the weather that’ll pack the snow in this trail with a crust as hard as earth–ugh!"
They ascended the trail laboriously, Steele in the lead, Ross lagging behind, leg-weary, and heavy-hearted at the thought of the months to come. Around the shoulder of the mountain they cautiously felt their way, the thick clouds about them seeming to press back the banks of snow above.
Once on the safe trail beyond the shoulder Steele turned, and held out his hand without a word. Also wordless, Ross gripped it. Then the older man took the back trail, and disappeared.
The boy stood where the other left him, staring into the clouds which hid the shoulder. As he stood, a slight breeze touched his cheek and died away. He buckled his snow-shoes on again, and faced Meadow Creek Valley. As he did so, the breeze came again. Presently it turned into a wind, and the clouds retreated hastily up the mountainside. Great flakes of snow filled the air. Faster and faster they came swirling down until the air was thick with a storm which cut sharply against Ross’s face. He hurried on, and in an hour was beyond the reach of the storm in Weimer’s shack, drying his wet coat and cap.
He found his old partner half wild with anxiety.
"If you did not come pack to-night," he cried, "I thought you would never! A plizzard ist now."
So rejoiced was Uncle Jake at Ross’s return that he sat near the fire and waxed garrulous while the wind lashed the trees and drove the snow outside; and Ross, the other side of the stove, shivered and listened listlessly.