“Good idea, Biff. Let’s move out.”
The three trudged westward, climbing, climbing. Big, craggy rocks dotted the sides of the slopes they scrambled up. Often they had to make wide detours to get around a cliff that rose straight up.
After two hours of scrambling, slipping, struggling against the rugged terrain, Muscles called a halt.
“We’d better take a break.” The rarefied air of the altitude had all three panting for breath. At Muscles’ words, Biff and Chuba sank to the ground without a word. Muscles flung himself to the ground beside them. Slowly their breathing became more even, strength flowed back into their bodies.
Muscles sat up, pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, took three deep puffs and tossed it away.
“Burns my lungs at this altitude. How far you figure we’ve gone, kids?”
“Like you said last night. If we measure the ups and downs, then we’ve covered quite a distance. But I doubt if we’ve covered more than five miles straight away,” Biff answered, and Chuba nodded in agreement.
“That plateau where Jack landed me must be just a short distance south of here. I’m making landmarks so we can spot the place when we come back,” Muscles explained.
Biff looked the area over carefully, too. Two peaks rose straight up, miles apart. A smaller peak was centered exactly between the two taller ones.
“Just like the letter ‘W,’” Biff said to himself. He would remember that.