"We will find it without fail," he confidently declared, "and taking the nearest way there."
A blinding snowstorm, beginning in the night, served to hold the aviators in shelter for another day. At the first sign of clearing weather, however, Roten decided to fly, though he explained that many landmarks would be lost sight of under the drifts, markings recorded during a previous journey.
"Follow the compass, old man."
This remark, ventured by one of the lieutenants, the chief airman ignored with a sniff.
"Pass the word to pull out," he snapped.
Five biplanes were off at the signal, and winging their way in perfect alignment. As far as vision extended billows upon billows of snow capped the mountaintops and billows and billows of it smothered the defiles. The observers shaded their eyes as best they could with their hoods from the trying color effect, heightened by the reflection of the sun, and many times the pilots made hasty swipes with coat cuffs to dry wet cheeks.
Roten changed the course more than once during the first hour out, indicating that he was missing here and there some familiar formation that would aid the keeping of undeviating progress.
"We ought to get to the jumping-off place pretty soon at fifty miles an hour."
Billy felt that he had to say something to break the sailing monotony.