"Still, I shouldn't advise it." "Why ?" It was rather difficult to answer.

Weston could not tell the major that he considered him a little too old for that work, or that he was dubious about his daughter's stamina and courage.

He had seen self-confident strangers come down from those mountains dressed in rags, with their boots torn off their bleeding feet.

Besides, he felt reasonably sure that, as he was not a professional guide, any advice that he might feel it wise to offer would not be heeded.
"I have heard that there is thick timber on the other slope," he said.
"It's generally rather bad to get through." Kinnaird, who never had been in really thick timber, dismissed the matter with a smile.
"We will start at six to-morrow, and endeavor to get down to camp again on the other side in the afternoon.

You will arrange about provisions." Weston said that he would do so, but he was not exactly pleased when he watched the major climb the hillside immediately behind them, with his glasses, to plot out the route.