258 AFRICAN ADVENTURE STORIES 



knew that the ridge had been passed. I was 

 crawling out on the great drift to the east of 

 the mountain and nearing the packed-snow area 

 where no tracks had been left. There was little 

 chance of crossing it with the expectation of 

 finding the trail on the other side. 



"It was slow, tedious work, groping along in 

 the darkness and feeling out each frozen foot- 

 print. My hands were sore from shuffling over 

 the rough snow, so I put my camera in a pocket 

 of my hunting-coat and, slipping my left hand 

 into the leather case, used it as a shield while 

 sliding along. Every few minutes the shotgun 

 that swung from my shoulders worked forward 

 and I had to stop to adjust it. 



"So hour after hour I crept along fifteen or 

 twenty feet at a time, then stopped to rest. 

 The tracks were becoming more and more shal- 

 low; evidently the hard snow was not far off. 

 Two more spells of crawling, two more rest 

 halts, and then, search as hard as I could, not 

 another footprint was found; they were not 

 there to find. 



"This tract must be crossed regardless of 

 consequences. I stood erect and, stepping out 

 boldly, tried to walk in as straight a course as 



