When the boys clung to the tree in the direct path of the avalanche, their action was the instinctive effort toward self-preservation, for they did not really hope it would save them. The mass of snow that was advancing upon them appeared to be carrying everything before it, and they fully expected, in the moment they had for thought, to be added to that accumulation of dÉbris.

The great bulk, coming down with such terrifying velocity, reached them and piled over them, but not with the resistless force they were braced to meet. The main body of the avalanche passed with a roar just beyond, and plunged into the caÑon below. The boys had paused in the edge of the torrent, where its velocity was slight as compared with that of the center. They crawled out of the snow that covered them and looked at each other with wide eyes.

“I can’t think of anything that could be worse than an avalanche,” said Raymond as he looked down at the smooth path left by the cataclysm.

“That was an awful moment,” said Sidney, “just before it struck us.”

“I know I was never so badly scared before. Do you suppose they are always as thick as they have been to-day?”

“I don’t think so. I think when there is a storm that the snow drifting in places is the weight that starts the slide.”

“Well, I shan’t be easy a minute now,” said Raymond, “till we’re at the top, and that looks a long way off yet.”

“I guess we’d better not fool away any time,” said Sidney, “and we’ve got no trail to start with.”

The avalanche had descended diagonally across the course of the trail, and had swept away a long reach of it, leaving only a smooth stretch of snow, with rocks sticking up here and there. The portion of the trail that was left intact was visible away up on the mountain, and the boys started for it, across the expanse of trackless snow. They were obliged to go very carefully to prevent slipping and sliding down the smooth incline. Their progress, therefore, seemed to them distressingly slow, but they plodded on persistently in their great desire to reach the summit. Both were filled with a dread of being caught in another avalanche, an encounter that might not result so fortunately as the first one had done.

At last the boys reached the unbroken trail across the path of the avalanche. While the road there had not been disturbed by the slide, the storms that were increasing with the increase of height had nearly buried it in snow. Sometimes for many yards it was entirely obliterated, and there the progress of the travelers was still more painful and slow. In such places they struggled through the soft snow, at times sinking to the waist before striking the hard old snow beneath.

It was only by the utmost care and the closest attention that the boys were able to keep the course of the trail. Frequently they lost it for a time, and then had to stop and hunt carefully to find it again. They were in constant terror lest they drop into some unsuspected gulch, or slip over the concealed edge of a ravine. It was a heart-breaking struggle and a slow one, and as they toiled upward the difficulties increased.

Snow-squalls continued to sweep down from the summits and along the slopes, swirling about the laboring boys and blinding them with the fine particles. At such times they were obliged to stand still and wait for the fury of the gust to pass. Then they reached the glacier, which, early in the day, they had seen above them. The trail went up to the terminal moraine of the glacier and disappeared, but the boys assumed that it passed over the mass of broken rocks to the ice. So they climbed over the dÉbris and up to the surface of the glacier, which at that point was not very high. They proceeded cautiously over the ice, until suddenly they came to the edge of a crevice. So unexpectedly, indeed, that Raymond nearly plunged into it, and was only saved by Sidney, who grasped him and threw him back on the ice.

“Well,” said Raymond with a long breath, as he rose to his feet; “that might be as bad as an avalanche.”

“If you went down into it,” said Sidney, “you would probably not have a very soft fall. We must have missed the road. I don’t believe it comes up over a place like this.”

“No, it can’t. We’ll have to go back and hunt for it. Jiminy! If we went over that ice-field we’d run across polar bears next time.”

“I’ve had enough bear for this trip,” declared Sidney, as they turned back on their tracks. “It’s a shame to lose this time, and we’ve got to hustle to reach the top before night.”

“I don’t believe we can do it, Sid; I’m about played out now.”

“We’ve simply got to do it. Let me carry your blankets for a while, Ray.”

“Not much! I’ll carry them myself.”

The boys, on arriving again at the moraine, after some search found that the trail turned to the right, but was covered with fresh snow, which was the cause of their missing it. It followed along the side of the glacier for a distance, and then over the ridge into a smaller ravine that was not filled with ice.

While the next ravine was not the bed of a glacier, it contained very much more snow. At the height to which the boys had reached by that time the storms during the day had been more frequent and more severe, consequently there was a great deal of fresh snow, which made traveling very much more difficult.

At first the trail climbed along well up on the left side of the ravine, and in that exposed position it was not filled uniformly with soft snow. In places the snow had failed to lodge, or had been swept away by eddying gusts, and those places came with sufficient frequency to mark the road for the travelers.

So, usually, while the boys were floundering through a deep deposit of fresh snow, they were able to see, ahead of them, the trail where it passed over the old hard snow of former years. In that way they were enabled to keep the general direction of the road, though they were sometimes off it, in deeper snow than ever. At such times when they left the trail, they frequently plunged down into soft snow that was above their waists, and were obliged to make a desperate effort to get back on the hard foundation.

Such traveling would have been sufficiently difficult if the boys had been unencumbered, and with the packs they were carrying it was extremely exhausting. Once or twice, when Raymond stepped off into loose snow, he was obliged to wait for Sidney’s help before he could get back. Sometimes, when the boys sank down in that way, they would loosen their blanket rolls, and throw them up, thus being enabled to crawl out without help.

All that occupied much time, besides taking the strength of the struggling boys, and the sun sank behind the western peaks and they were still not out of that caÑon. Then, too, as they constantly climbed to higher elevations, and the trail approached the upper end of the ravine, it was less exposed to the wind and was more evenly covered with snow. So, finally, the boys labored through deep snow without any intervals of good road, and could only with difficulty keep the trail at all.

For what seemed to the boys hours they toiled on and up, without conversation, except when one of them briefly requested aid from the other. All their breath was needed for the work they were doing, with none left for talk. Sidney was a little taller than his brother, and in deep snow that gave him great advantage. Then, being older, he was more solid and more closely knit, consequently he possessed greater endurance. So it was generally his lot to pull Raymond out of holes.

When they missed the road and got up on the glacier by mistake, Raymond had thought he was not equal to much more, but with pure nerve he kept to the work, and for a long time said nothing more about being tired. At first the fear of another avalanche had been an incentive to keep forging ahead. As they ascended, however, and neared the summit of the range, they gradually rose level with, or above, the overhanging cliffs from which snow-slides were likely to start, and were relieved of that fear.

But there may be a limit to the endurance of even a gritty boy, and Raymond began to feel that he was really at the end of his rope. The day had been extremely arduous, and it had been preceded by many days of hard work, with barely a sufficiency of food. The boy finally stopped, standing in the deep snow, and gazed up at the summit above them.

The snow-squalls had ceased and the clouds had cleared away. The sun, which was out of sight behind the western peaks, still shone on the crests, and turned all their white covering to a glorious rosy pink. That beauty was lost on Raymond, however, for all he could think of was the distance that remained. It was not far,—indeed, it seemed very near,—but every step was through deep snow, and all vestige of a trail had disappeared.

“Sid!” called Raymond to his brother, who was a few steps ahead, and his voice hardly carried the short distance.

Sidney stopped and looked back.

“I don’t believe I can go any farther, Sid.”

“But we can’t stop here, Ray.”

“I know; I suppose if I stop it will be for good. You go on without me, Sid. You can make it alone, and there is no use in both of us failing.”

Sidney returned to his brother, and was alarmed by the pallor of the boy’s face.

“Give me your blankets, Ray,” he said; “I ought to have taken them before.”

“You can’t carry mine and your own too.”

“Oh, yes, I can, easily.” And Sidney detached the blanket roll from the shoulder of the unresisting boy. “Now, see, Ray, it’s only a little bit farther; don’t you think you can get up without anything to carry?”

“I’ll try; maybe I can.”

Raymond took one or two struggling, uncertain steps in the deep snow and stopped again.

“Here, Ray,” said Sidney, when he saw how exhausted his brother was; “take hold of the end of this blanket roll and pull just as hard as you want to. That will help you along.”

Raymond did as directed, taking hold of the roll which was slung over Sidney’s shoulder, and again they started. They took two or three steps when Sidney felt the weight released from his shoulder. He looked back and saw that Raymond had sunk down in the snow.

“Ray!” he said, but there was no response.

He stooped and raised Raymond’s head. The boy’s face was very white and his eyes were closed.

“Ray! Ray!” called Sidney beseechingly, but Raymond did not hear, and when Sidney released his head it dropped forward on his chest.

Sidney stood up and looked about him in a panic. The setting sun still illumined the summit that was so short a distance above him. But everywhere between was deep snow and no trail. If there were only a trail, Sidney thought, he would take Raymond on his back and carry him to the top. It would be like a labor of Hercules, but he believed he could do it. Without a trail, however, and with deep snow to walk through, such a thing was plainly impossible.

He looked down on Raymond, who lay in the snow just as he had dropped, and realized that if he did not do something promptly the fainting boy would become so cold that nothing could revive him. And yet, what could he do? They had gone far above the timber-line, and there was not a shrub or tree in sight, nothing to make a fire for warmth. And there was, apparently, no refuge from the snow that covered all the rocks, the snow that was likely to freeze them both. That, then, would be the end of their desperate attempt to reach home, and their mother, who was waiting in New York, and their father in a Russian prison, would never know what had become of them.