“Positive,” Sandy assured him.
Hank waved a hand and scrambled out of sight. Behind him, Sandy heard Mike mutter, “We’re a fine pair of hunters! Here we are—stuck on the side of a mountain in the middle of a cloudburst like a couple of flies caught on flypaper.”
“Well, at least we can move,” Sandy said philosophically, shaking the water out of his eyes. “Looks like another seventy-five yards or so. Think you can make it?”
“Carry on, old man.”
After another five minutes of hard climbing, they broke through to a clearing that led in one direction to another clump of trees. In the other direction was another rock slide, similar to the one they had just negotiated, but smaller.
“Which way?” Mike wondered.
“Hank said it was easy going from here on,” Sandy reasoned. “He must mean up the slide.”
“He certainly can’t mean through those trees,” Mike agreed. “Let’s try it your way.”
Moving along on all fours, Sandy started to scramble up the slippery rock. He was surprised to find the going was much easier than he had anticipated.
“Hey!” he said. “This is a cinch.”