Explore "The Gold Trail" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The party had spent another day or two beside the lake when, one drowsy afternoon, Kinnaird, who sat on the hot, white shingle by the water's edge, with a pair of glasses in his hand, sent for Weston. Miss Kinnaird and Ida Stirling were seated among the boulders not far away.
"I understand that the river bends around the range, and the crest of the first rise seems no great height," he said. "There is evidently -- a bench I think you call it -- before you come to the snow, and the ascent should be practicable for a lady. Take these glasses and look at it."