“Yes, but the main road was the same,” reminded Phil. “There weren’t any tracks a mile after we left town.”
“I guess you’re right,” Bill was forced to admit. “Well, then—we are alone! Pioneers, you might say ... blizzard trail blazers!”
The three chums laughed, directing their glances toward the town of Centerville, a black and white patch three miles below them. Their shack commanded an even better view, located as it was upon a ledge just beneath the brow of Mountain Ridge.
“Let’s get on to the shack,” urged Bill. “I’m cold. We could stand a good fire in that makeshift fireplace of ours.”
“Hold on!” cried Max, excitedly. “Did you say a minute ago that we were standing on the road?”
“Well, I should have said we were standing some eight feet above the road,” corrected Bill, “the snow’s sure filled in this bank here.”
“I’ll say it has!” Max rejoined, scraping with his ski across a blackened surface, “and it’s completely covered an automobile!”
“What?”
Unbelievingly, the two chums knelt down beside Max and felt with their hands.
“Good grief!” cried Phil. “We’re actually standing on the top!”