There would probably be no use for the snowshoes in this region of broken shrubbery before he came to the timberline.
He swept on with a lengthening stride.

He knew this part of the country like a book, of course, and he seldom stumbled, save when he came out into a clearing and the wind smote at him from an unexpected angle.

In one of these clearings he stopped and took stock of his position.

Far away to the west and the south, the head of Scalped Mountain was lost in dim, rushing clouds.

He must make for that goal.
Progress became less easy almost at once.