The snow stopped during the night and a high-pressure area moved into the vicinity. Morning brought clear blue skies and bright sun. But the air was still dry and frosty.
“Actually, only about seven inches fell,” Superintendent MacKensie told them at breakfast. “By the time you folks are on your way, the highway will be slick as a whistle. Our patrol plane’s scouting back in the direction of Dawson Creek to see if any motorcars are in trouble. If anyone was on the road when that snow started coming down real hard, they would have had to sit it out overnight.”
“I hope we’re still here when the plane gets back,” Jerry said. “I’d like to see how they land those babies on skis.”
“Actually, it’s smoother than landing on wheels,” Professor Crowell told him. “I know I prefer them.”
“Do you have your own plane, Professor?” Sandy asked.
“Oh, yes. In wild, big country like this, planes are more common than family cars, and far more practical. In the summertime almost every lake you pass on your way north looks something like a supermarket parking field. Private planes, all sizes and shapes and makes.”
Jerry whistled. “Boy, that’s the life. Can you imagine how that would be back in Valley View? I can just hear myself saying to my father, ‘Hey, Pop, I got a heavy date tonight. Can I have the keys to the plane?’”
The men laughed and Professor Crowell said, “That’s not as much of a joke as you think. My daughters are always flying up to Edmonton to shop for their new spring outfits and Easter bonnets.”
Jerry looked wistful. “Gee, it must be more fun being a kid up here than it is in the city.”
Dr. Steele smiled. “It certainly must be more exciting in some ways. Then again, I suspect that youngsters like you and Sandy would miss your malt shops, drive-ins and television.”