Eckenrod attempted to get to his feet, but his left leg crumbled beneath him. Pain and despair were in his eyes as he gazed at his companion.
“Broken,” he said. “Now we are in a fix.”
Trying not to disclose fright, Penny said the only thing to do was to call for help. However, after she had shouted until she was nearly hoarse, she too was filled with despair.
“Winkey isn’t coming back,” she acknowledged. “And no one else is close enough to hear our cries!”
In an attempt to ease Mr. Eckenrod’s pain, Penny tore strips of cloth from her underskirt, and used the broken skis to make a splint.
“There’s nothing wrong with my right leg,” the artist insisted. “It’s good and strong. If only I could get up on it, I think I could boost you to the ledge. We’ve got to do something!”
“Could you really do it?” Penny asked, hope reviving.
“I’ve got to,” the artist replied grimly. “Night’s coming on. We’ll freeze if we’re here an hour.”
With Penny’s help, Mr. Eckenrod after several attempts, managed to struggle upright on his good right leg. He weaved unsteadily a moment, then ordered:
“Now onto my shoulders!”