The man served without question, and, quicker of wit than of speech, his buff-gauntleted hand went to his hat-brim whenever Armitage addressed him.
They sought again the spot whence Armitage had first looked down upon Storm Valley, and he opened his pocket map, the better to clarify his ideas of the region.
"We shall go down into the valley, Oscar," he said; and thereafter it was he that led.
They struck presently into an old road that had been an early highway across the mountains.

Above and below the forest hung gloomily, and passing clouds darkened the slopes and occasionally spilled rain.
Armitage drew on his cloak and Oscar enveloped himself in a slicker as they rode through a sharp shower.

At a lower level they came into fair weather again, and, crossing a bridge, rode down into Storm Valley.

The road at once bore marks of care; and they passed a number of traps that spoke unmistakably of cities, and riders whose mounts knew well the bridle-paths of Central Park.

The hotel loomed massively before them, and beyond were handsome estates and ambitious mansions scattered through the valley and on the lower slopes.
Armitage paused in a clump of trees and dismounted.
"You will stay here until I come back.