One of the luckiest (and laziest) prospectors for gold in the old west was Morbid Jones. It was said of Morbid that he could smell out the precious metal, as a dog smells out a meaty bone. Then having found it, he would do nothing about it until goaded into protesting action by his energetic, two fisted wife. Be that as it may, wherever Morbid went, others went too - to ride on Morbid's luck. Even when the snow lay deep on the mountain slopes they followed him, and so it is, we now find two men making their slow way up a mountainside on snow shoes, pausing every now and then to look down at a little cabin that nestles in a pass at the foot of two great slopes.