In clear air we must have had a wonderful prospect, but the mist hung close around us, the drizzle blurred our eyes, and the most we saw was a yard or two of grey vapour.

It was easy enough to find the road, for the ridge ran upwards as narrow as a hog's back.
Presently it ceased, and with labouring breath we walked a step or two in flat ground.

Ringan, who was in front, stumbled over a little heap of stones about a foot high.
"Studd had a poor notion of a cairn," he said, as he kicked them down.
There was nothing beneath but bare soil.
But the hunter had spoken the truth.

A little digging in the earth revealed the green metal of an old powder-flask with a wooden stopper.
I forced it open, and shook from its inside a twist of very dirty paper.

There were some rude scratchings on it with charcoal, which I read with difficulty.
_Salut to Adventrs_.
_Robbin Studd on ye Sumit of Mountaine ye 3rd_ _dy of June, yr_ 1672 _hathe sene ye_ _Promissd Lande_.
Somehow in that bleak place this scrap of a human message wonderfully uplifted our hearts.