With fingers numb from cold, Penny removed her broken skis.
Walls of the hole into which she had fallen were sharp and firm with frozen ice, offering few if any handholds.
Unwilling to call attention to her plight unless absolutely necessary, she studied the sheer walls carefully, and then, grasping a projection, tried to raise herself to a ledge just over her head. The ice broke in her fingers, and she tumbled backwards again.
Penny now began to suffer from cold. Her clothes, damp from perspiration, were freezing to her body.
“This is no time to be proud!” she thought. “I’ll have to shout for help and hope Winkey hears me. He’s the last person in the world I’d ask voluntarily, but if he doesn’t help me, I may be trapped here hours! I could freeze to death!”
Penny shouted for help and was alarmed by the sound of her own voice. Not only was it weak, but it seemed smothered by the walls of the crevasse. She knew the cry would not carry far.
But as she drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting again, she heard voices only a short distance away.
Her first thought was that her cry for help had been heard and someone was coming to her aid.
The next instant she knew better. Those who approached were arguing violently.
“You stole the wood from my land!” she heard the accuser shout. “I saw you pile it on your sled, and you’re carrying it away now!”