Jim was still sleeping when I bent over and shook his shoulder. He slowly opened his eyes. I put my mouth close to his ear to make him hear in the uproar of the wind.
"Better get up," I said. "Something's happening."
He glanced at the copper sky and scrambled out of his sleeping bag. "Brrrr, it's cold!" he said, shivering. "What does it all mean?"
"I imagine it means the moon is rising over the horizon and is pretty close to us."
"How are we going to keep from freezing?"
"Get into the cabin, I guess. If the wind doesn't reach the plane we'll be just as safe as we are here, and if it does it will tear us to pieces wherever we are."
We had worked the plane into the deepest part of the depression between the sandstone ridges and it looked safe enough, unless the mountain itself should be demolished. We gathered up our sleeping bags and scrambled through the little door.
It was soon after we got inside that the moon appeared overhead. Jim and I have never been able to agree as to how big it actually looked that second night. I suppose we thought it was bigger than it really was, because it had increased so much in size since the previous night. It came over the sandstone ridge, a great scarlet globe mottled with black.
"Gad, it's right on top of us!" exclaimed Jim.
"No it isn't," I replied, "but it probably will be tomorrow."