It was three hours later, and the sun was burning the peaks red, when Anne-Marie stopped, pulled off her woolen cap and waved at the vista below.
"There you see it," she said. "Our valley."
"It's a mighty perty sight," Chip gasped. "Anything this tough to get a look at ought to be."
Anne-Marie pointed. "There," she said. "The little red house by itself. Do you see it, Retief? It is my father's home-acre."
Retief looked across the valley. Gaily painted houses nestled together, a puddle of color in the bowl of the valley.
"I think you've led a good life there," he said.
Anne-Marie smiled brilliantly. "And this day, too, is good."
Relief smiled back. "Yes," he said. "This day is good."
"It'll be a durn sight better when I got my feet up to that big fire you was talking about, Annie," Chip said.
They climbed on, crossed a shoulder of broken rock, reached the final slope. Above, the lodge sprawled, a long low structure of heavy logs, outlined against the deep-blue twilight sky. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys at either end, and yellow light gleamed from the narrow windows, reflected on the snow. Men and women stood in groups of three or four, skis over their shoulders. Their voices and laughter rang in the icy air.