Sandy nodded. “Not a living thing in sight. Just the mountains and the wind....”
“And the rain,” Hank said suddenly. “Here it comes.”
The first spattering gusts of rain lashed the rock outcropping above them. In the east, dirty ragged clouds scudded over the sun. “Want to go back?” Hank asked.
Sandy and Mike both shook their heads. “Not unless the rain drives the goats away,” Sandy said.
“Don’t worry about that,” Hank replied. “I told you they’re tough. Weather like this won’t stop a goat.” He dropped the pack from his shoulder and reached into a pocket for a pair of binoculars. “Here,” he said, offering the glasses to Sandy. “Start looking.”
Sandy brought the binoculars up to his eyes and started to scan the neighboring peaks. “Where do I look?” he asked.
“Notice how the south sides of all the peaks are covered with trees?” Hank asked. Sandy nodded. “That’s because they get most of the sun.”
“The sides facing north are practically all rock,” Sandy observed.
“Except for a big yellow pine here and there. See them?”
“Sure. And there seems to be something that looks like snow at the base of each tree.”