throat of the Pass, and the snow fell like bales of sheep's wool,
blanketing the trails and drifting into the railroad cuts until
they attained their original level. But after she had cooked supper
Catharine started for home as usual. The only unusual thing about
it was that the next morning she did not return. It was Sunday, the
men's day "off." Wingate ate no breakfast, but after swallowing
some strong tea he turned to the foreman. "Mr. Brown, will you come
with me to try and hunt up Catharine?" he asked.

"Yes, if we can get beyond the door," assented Brown. "But I doubt
if we can make the canyon, sir."

"We'll have a try at it, anyway," said the young engineer. "I
almost doubt myself if she made it last night."

"She's a stubborn woman," commented Brown.

"And has her own reasons for it, I suppose," replied Wingate. "But
that has nothing to do with her being lost or frozen. If something
had not happened I'm sure she would have come to-day, notwithstanding
I scolded her yesterday, and told her I'd rather cook myself than let
her run such risks. How will we go, Mr. Brown; horses or snowshoes?"

"Shoes," said the foreman decidedly. "That snow'll be above the
middle of the biggest horse in the outfit."

So they set forth on their tramp up the slopes, peering right and
left as they went for any indication of the absent woman. Wingate's
old grief was knocking at his heart once more. A woman lost in the
appalling vastness of this great Western land was entering into