His head fell forward, then with an exclamation of pain he bestirred himself. His cheek had come in contact with the edge of an ice-axe, and the keen metal had cut into his flesh.
Holding his mittened hand against the wound, Leslie sat up. He was annoyed, not so much at the accident, as at his companions' complete indifference to his cry of pain and surprise. Then it dawned upon him that there were only three of them, and all were sound asleep in the snow-drift—a slumber which, if prolonged, would be the sleep of death.
"Guy! Guy!" he bawled into his chum's ear.
Receiving no response, he vigorously shook the sleeping lad. The action, although it gave Leslie renewed vitality, failed to have any visible effect upon Guy.
"Perhaps he's dead already," thought Leslie, then desperately he began to pummel the unresisting form of his chum, until Guy moved, grumbled drowsily, and finally opened his eyes. Nor did Leslie relax his efforts until his friend was able to show an intelligent knowledge of his surroundings.
"Buck up!" exclaimed Leslie. "We've got to tackle the others, if it's not too late."
Rogers gave very little trouble. As soon as he opened his eyes he seemed to realise the situation.
"Pity you didn't let us stop quiet," he said bluntly. "'Twould have been an easy snuff-out. Howsomever, now we've started we'd best carry on. Where's my mate?"
Neither Leslie nor Guy knew. They could offer no solution as to Payne's disappearance.
"Hard lines!" resumed Rogers. "He was a right good sort. But how about the Boss?"