"There's a place somewhere," said Lucile stoutly, as she lowered her burden to the snow and paused for a brief rest. "There's a path down and we must find it, if it's nothing more than to find a safe spot by the sea where we can fish for smelt, tomcod and flounders."
Dusk was falling when, at length, with a little cry of joy, Lucile sprang forward, then began a cautious descent over a winding and apparently well-worn trail which even the snow did not completely conceal.
With hearts beating wildly, in utter silence they made their way down, down the winding way—to what? That, they could not tell.
Finally Lucile paused. She caught her breath quickly and clutched at her throat.
At length, in a calmer moment, she pointed down and to the right of the trail.
"See that square of white?"
Marian strained her eyes to peer through the gathering darkness.
"Yes," she said at last, "I see it."
"That," said Lucile in a tone that was tense with emotion, "is the roof of a house—a white man's house!"
"Wha—what makes you think so?" gasped Marian.