Late in the afternoon the low-lying clouds began to lift. Rifts appeared in the solid grayness but the drizzle kept on. I put on my raincoat and got out of the plane to stretch my legs.
The air was wet, cool, refreshing. I looked about. In places the slopes were visible as far as the timberline and even before. In others the gray pall remained. Somewhere out of it I heard a voice calling my name, more loudly with each repetition. My eyes tried to bore through the haze and shortly a stocky figure detached itself from it, coming towards me. It was Johnny Eagle, his eyes more luminous than I had ever seen them.
"I've found the Twins," he said simply and plunged back into the mist with me close behind.
I stumbled eagerly up the slope for nearly two hundred yards. Johnny Eagle was standing on a boulder, pointing north through a great break in the low ceiling of cloud. I looked, my heart racing wildly. There they were towering in the sky, the Twins, as similar as though they were a double image seen in a badly focussed lens. I judged them to be three miles off.
I yelled for Johnny to stay put while I scrambled down the slope, ripping my pants and scraping my knees as my legs gave way under me in a patch of loose scree. Back at the plane I found the pilot putting up a makeshift antenna.
"Get Burns Lake quick," I ordered between gasps. "Ask for Armstrong."
Armstrong was elated but grimly realistic. "This must be it, Arnold; it has to be."
I knew what he meant. This was our last lead; there wouldn't be time for more.
Armstrong asked whether I could move out up to the peaks and radio a report to him. I looked out of the cabin ports. Night had fallen quickly, but in the cloud blankets the clefts were widening to let feeble patches of starlight show through.