Sandy stood over Mike’s bed threateningly. “You want the cold-water treatment?” he said.
“You win.” Mike struggled up and peered out at the morning. “Looks like the middle of the night,” he said.
“The sun’ll be up pretty soon. I’ll throw on some bacon and eggs while you get dressed.”
“Lots of eggs!” Mike shouted as Sandy opened the door and went out into the main room.
Hank was already up. A fire was going in the fireplace and Sandy could hear noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed open the door to find Hank mopping up a plate of eggs. He was dressed in a heavy flannel shirt, a pair of corduroy trousers and high-topped, sturdy-looking climbing shoes. A leather jacket, a bedroll and a rifle were propped against the far wall.
“I put out some bacon and eggs for you two,” he said when he saw Sandy. “Got your gear all packed?”
“We’re all ready. We did it last night.” He threw half a dozen thick slabs of bacon into the frying pan and sat down beside Hank. “Doesn’t look as if it’s going to be much of a day,” he said.
“’Fraid not. We’re due for some rain.” Hank got up and scraped his plate. “Hurry up with your breakfast and meet me outside. I’d like to be up in the peaks by dawn.”
Later that morning, they stood on a narrow, windswept ledge of rock, nearly ten thousand feet high, watching a pale, watery dawn touch the tops of mountain peaks fifty miles away. It was an experience Sandy would never forget. One moment they were in darkness; then gradually the world around them began to take shape. First the tops of the ridges loomed up out of the gray mist. As the sun rose higher, faint fingers of light streaked down into the valleys far below, probing the shadowy pools of night that still huddled there.
Sandy and Mike stared at the scene wordlessly, lost in the wonder of the view. Finally Mike sighed deeply. “It must have looked like this a million years ago,” he said softly.