The drifts had blown clear of the narrow ridge down which poor Buster had slid. They dared not trust the horses here, but dismounted and crept gingerly across, the animals slipping and snorting behind them. They rested after the crossing, and Douglas saw that tears were frozen on Judith's lashes.
"Judith, I believe the old horse was glad to go in service that way," he said.
Judith shook her head. "It's been a terribly expensive trip," she said.
"Old Johnny and Buster."
"Expensive for them, yes,—poor old scouts both of them," Douglas sighed, then added, "But, God, what a marvelous trip for me!"
"And for me!" Judith nodded soberly.
They beat their hands across their breasts and remounted, silently.
All the brilliant afternoon, they worked their uneven way upward. Each of the horses was down again and again. Both Judith and Douglas were bruised and cut by ice. Both were drawing breath in rapid sobs when, just before sunset, they fought the last few yards to the level of the Pass, won to it, and lay on the icy ledge, exhausted. Wolf Cub nosed them and whined disconsolately.
"You're right—old hunter—!" gasped Douglas. "If we—don't—keep moving—the cold—will get us!"
Judith, who had been lying on her back staring at the sky, rolled over on her face and struggled to her hands and knees.
"Keep that—wild—elephant—you call—a horse in a long lead—or he'll step on you—Doug!" she called.