“Right.”
“Snow!” Mike said. “At the end of June?”
“It never had a chance to melt,” Hank explained. “The shade of the tree keeps the ground cold until the middle of July. Now take a close look at every patch of snow you can see. That’s where you’ll spot a goat.”
Sandy swept back and forth across the peaks with his glasses. “Not a thing,” he announced.
“Let me look.” After a moment or two, Hank stiffened and leaned forward. “There’s your billy goat,” he said.
“Where?” Sandy cried. “I just looked there.”
“Well, you didn’t look hard enough.” He turned the glasses back to Sandy. “Try another peek.”
Sandy focused in on a tiny white spot that stood out against the gray granite. At first he thought it was a faint smear of snow. But then, unexpectedly, he saw it move. “I’ll be darned!” he breathed. “You’re right!”
“Let me take a look!” Mike cried. He stared through the binoculars and nodded his head excitedly. “I see him,” he cried. “How do you know it’s a billy?”
“I don’t think it’s a nanny goat,” Hank said. “This one’s all by himself and nannies mostly stay together.”