"More snow," sighed Leslie, looking over the silent, white sheeted valley with homesick eyes.
"Und den more," added Weimer complacently. "More und more till June."
That noon it chanced that Weimer, being afflicted with a headache, left the tunnel early. A little later, Ross, pushing the little car out to the dump, called back to Leslie at work with the drill:
"Guess I’ll go down and rustle the grub for Uncle Jake. That headache of his is genuine."
"All right," assented Leslie, "I’ll be down in half an hour or so. I want to put this shot before I go."
Ross found Weimer in a state of great excitement, the headache forgotten. He stood at the door of the shack, peering up toward the tunnel, both hands shielding his blinking eyes.
"Who vas dot man?" he demanded in a high, eager voice.
"What man, Uncle Jake?" Ross stopped short, staring at Weimer as though he were bereft of his senses.
"I see him!" declared Weimer. "He vas shust startin’ up dot trail py de tunnel. I see his pack. He vore ein pag on it. He vore ein cap mit goggles. I see him."
Ross looked up the mountainside incredulously. "Why, Uncle Jake, I just left the tunnel and there was no one there but Leslie. I guess," jocosely, "your headache has made you ’see things at night,’ hasn’t it? No one can get into the valley now, you know."