Plop-plop-plop, went Jodie’s skin boots on the hard-packed snow. Fainter, yet unmistakable, came the girl’s trotting footsteps behind him.
The storm grew wilder. The team, striking a stretch of glare-ice, was blown straight across it to pile up in a heap on the other side. Without a word Jodie disentangled them. Then, turning to the girl, he said, “Cheek’s froze. Take off your mitten and thaw it out with your hand.”
“Thanks,” Florence smiled as best she could. “Yours too are frozen. If you don’t mind, I’ll do yours first.”
His hand went hastily to his cheek, then he chuckled, “O. K. You win.”
Five minutes more and they were again battling the storm.
For two full hours, with the wind tearing at their parkas and the frost biting their cheeks, they battled onward. Then, of a sudden, the dogs took a sharp turn, climbed a ridge, dropped down into a valley, and they were out of the storm.
“You—you’re a better man than I am, Gungadin!” Jodie panted.
“Do you really think I’m good?” there was a note of suppressed eagerness in the girl’s voice.
“Sure you are!” the boy exclaimed. “Of course you are. Why?”
“Oh! I was just thinking,” she evaded. “You—you know, everybody wants to be good at things,” she added rather lamely. “But look!” she exclaimed, “your face is frozen again!”