The girls of the party rather reluctantly lay down again, and found that, in that position, the wind barely touched them, and, from that time on, peace reigned in the Overland camp until morning. The morning, however, brought with it fresh troubles. Every member of the party awakened shivering. Stacy declared that his feet were frozen, which Emma asserted was a chronic condition with him.
The Overlanders dragged themselves from the trenches, shoulders hunched forward, hands thrust into their pockets, their faces blue and pinched. The limit of their endurance was reached, however, when the familiar voice of Woo Smith assailed their ears.
“Hi-lee, hi-lo! Don’t wolly till to-mollow,” sang the guide.
“Smith!” shouted Tom Gray.
“He—he thi—thi—thinks he’s a bird,” chattered Stacy. “I hope he tries to fly.”
“Smith, please cut out the singing and prepare hot coffee as quickly as possible,” directed Tom.
“Me savvy coffee. Me savvy nicee piecee day. You savvy nicee day?” bubbled the guide.
“Oh, let him have his way, Tom,” urged Grace laughingly. “We should be glad that we have such a cheerful guide.”
“Cheerful idiot!” muttered Tom.
“Yes, Woo. We savvy,” called Grace, smiling over at the grinning face of the Chinaman. “Please make haste with the breakfast, though. Girls, get up and look out over the wonderful scene before you, and I will guarantee that you will instantly forget your troubles.”