I am almost certain there are none." This conversation between the brothers had occurred, long before the losing of the kite.

When that event came to pass, it was not necessary for them to repeat it; and, both being thus acquainted with the fact that it was impossible for them to construct another, they felt that they had sustained an irreparable loss.
In what direction had the kite been carried off?
Might it not be blown along the line of cliffs, and tossed back again into the valley?
As there appeared some probability that such a chance might arise, all three ran outward from the rocks--in order to command a better view of the precipice, on each side.
For a long time they stood watching--in hopes that they might see the great paper-bird returning to the scene of its nativity.

But it never came back; and they became at length convinced, that it never would.
Indeed, the direction of the wind--when they paused to consider it-- rendered the thing not only improbable, but impossible.

It was blowing _from_ the cliffs, and _towards_ the snowy ridge.

No doubt the kite had been carried up the sloping acclivity; and had either passed clear over the mountains, or become lodged in some deep defile, where the wind could no longer reach it.