“So did I. Say, let’s try to move the sled,” Jerry suggested.
They both shoved and pulled at the sled for a long time, but it seemed welded to the spot. At last, Jerry sank down exhausted. “I don’t get it. What happened?”
Sandy played the light over the walls of the lean-to. “I can guess. Remember how cozy and warm it got in here last night? Between that stove and the heat from our bodies, I bet the temperature in here was a good fifty degrees higher than it was outside. The heat radiates through the snow, causing it to melt partially. Then it freezes up. That’s how the Eskimos harden the walls of their snow houses. They build big bonfires in them.”
“Only they don’t forget to make doors in ’em,” Jerry said grimly. “Another thousand years from now, I can see a couple of geologists like your dad and the professor digging us out. Preserved in a block of ice like that baby mammoth.”
“It’s no joking matter,” Sandy said. “We’ve got to think of a way to break out of here. One thing, though: they’re bound to send out search parties and sooner or later they’ll find the sled.”
“What makes you think so?” Jerry demanded. “The sled is probably covered with snow by now and this must look like any other part of the landscape. And you don’t think those dogs are going to hang around here forever, do you? They’ve probably run off looking for food already.”
Sandy felt his heart begin to race madly. “I never thought of that,” he admitted. “Well, it’s up to us then. What have we got that we can use as a chipping tool?”
“Only thing I can think of that’s metal is the Coleman stove.”
“That’s no good. No sharp edges.”
They were silent for a moment, then Sandy snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! The gun!” He took the bulky .45 out of his pocket and held it up in the light. “We’ll blast our way out.”