Dick and Sandy hesitated.
“Perhaps we’d better not go down to the river,” said Dick. “It may be a wiser plan to keep up above, where there isn’t the danger from these avalanches. No use to risk our lives needlessly,” he pointed out.
Their guide grunted something under his breath, then looked up, his sober, dark eyes twinkling.
“Snowslide catch us in the valley,” he pronounced. “Big blizzard catch us on top. Which way you like die best?”
At any other time the two boys would have seen the humor in the situation, but at that particular moment neither Sandy nor Dick felt that there was anything funny about it. For a brief interval they stood, deep in thought, their two youthful faces clouded with apprehension.
“It makes no difference to me which way I die,” declared Sandy at length, kicking disconsolately at the trunk of a small tree, which had been uprooted by the force of the snowslide. “We’re more than half way down to the river now, so what’s the use of turning back. My choice is the valley. At least, we can travel faster down there, with more protection from the storm.”
“You’re right,” agreed Dick, “I choose the valley, too. Do you think we can reach your friend Raoul’s place before dark?”
“Best we can do it take three hours from here,” replied Toma, “an’ night come early. One hour more mebbe an’ then we no see at all. Dark all ’round. Travel very slow then. Raoul him live on top of river bank ten, fifteen miles from here.”
Without further word, the three boys made their way quickly down to the floor of the valley and proceeded on their way. Beneath their feet was the frozen course of the Bad Heart River, winding forth through a white world of weird, irregular cliffs, now deeply mantled with snow.
“This is better,” Sandy growled, looking up to where the storm broke above their heads. “I never would have thought it would make so much difference being down here. You can actually see a little and hardly feel the wind at all.”