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"It's no use, boys. It can't be done! This is no blizzard, but a
regular two days' snifter! It's no longer meltin', but packin' and
driftin' now. Even if we get over the divide, we're sure to be
blocked up in the pass."
It was true! To their bitter disappointment they could now see
that the snow had not really diminished in quantity, but that the
now finely-powdered particles were rapidly filling all inequalities
of the surface, packing closely against projections, and swirling
in long furrows across the levels. They looked with anxiety at
their self-constituted leader.
"We must make a break to get down in the woods again before it's
too late," he said briefly.
But they had already drifted away from the fringe of larches and
dwarf pines that marked the sides of the Ridge, and lower down
merged into the dense forest that clothed the flank of the mountain
they had lately climbed, and it was with the greatest difficulty
that they again reached it, only to find that at that point it was
too precipitous for the descent of their horses. Benumbed and
speechless, they continued to toil on, opposed to the full fury of
the stinging snow, and at times obliged to turn their horses to the
blast to keep from being blown over the Ridge. At the end of half
an hour the ostler dismounted, and, beckoning to the others, took
his horse by the bridle, and began the descent. When it came to
Hale's turn to dismount he could not help at first recoiling from
the prospect before him. The trail--if it could be so called--was
merely the track or furrow of some fallen tree dragged, by accident
or design, diagonally across the sides of the mountain. At times
it appeared scarcely a foot in width; at other times a mere
crumbling gully, or a narrow shelf made by the projections of dead
boughs and collected debris. It seemed perilous for a foot
passenger, it appeared impossible for a horse. Nevertheless, he
had taken a step forward when Clinch laid his hand on his arm.
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