The gale lasted for more than a day; the men began to lose their strength, and the mules would not move onwards. My guide's brother tried to return, but he perished, and his body was found two years afterwards, Lying by the side of his mule near the road, with the bridle still in his hand.

Robert Louis Stevenson describes their life at Saranac: "We are high up in the Adirondack Mountains, living in a guide's cottage in the most primitive fashion. It is already very cold, but we have calked the doors and windows as one calks a boat, and have laid in a store of extraordinary garments made by the Canadian Indians.

I can't tell you what first informed me of my guide's rank among them whether the salaams they offered him, or the richness of his dress he was the only one with gold lace and the only one who carried pistols or the air with which he paraded me through the crowd, waving the people back to right and left, and clearing a way to a narrow door in the wall around the great house.

If I could, my mind would be somewhat lightened of its burden a burden grown heavier since Guide's death, for from his blood had sprung forth a new group of Furies, that lashed me on to my task with scorpion whips of redoubled wrath and passionate ferocity. Yet if I could do one good action now would it not be as a star shining in the midst of my soul's storm and darkness?

Miss Strong, who had had some experience of mountaineering in Switzerland, restrained the pace and kept them all at what she called a "guide's walk." "It pays in the long run," she assured them. "If you tear ahead at first, you get tired later on, and we must keep fairly well together. I can't have some of you half a mile behind." The April days were still cold, but very bracing for exercise.

All I cared about were the few drops of water which fell to my share. What I suffered it is useless to record. The guide's gourd, not quite half full, was all that was left for us three! Having finished their repast, my two companions laid themselves down upon their rugs, and found in sleep a remedy for their fatigue and sufferings.

"Why, your horse partakes of your spirit," observed his companion, as, clapping his spurs in the horse's side, Jack galloped over the greensward at a rate which put his guide's steed on his mettle. He would willingly have gone by himself, but unacquainted with that part of the forest, he would scarcely alone have found his way in the dark.

Michel replied with some embarrassment: "I do not climb with every one, monsieur. I hoped perhaps that one of my old patrons would want me. So I waited." Chayne looked round the platform for his friend. "And Monsieur Lattery?" he asked. The guide's face lit up. "Monsieur Lattery? Is he coming too? It will be the old days once more." "Coming? He is here now.

It was almost too tantalizing to be endured. Mollie had to keep repeating to herself "A Guide's Word is Always to be Trusted," as she reflected upon that most provoking promise extracted from her by Prue. It was so long ago, surely a question, one question, would not matter now.

The queen placed her hand on her young guide's shoulder. "Where are you leading us?" she asked him with terror. "Out of the castle," replied the child. "But we shall have to pass through the great hall?" "Without a doubt; and that is exactly what George foresaw. Among the footmen, whose livery your Majesty is wearing, no one will recognise you."