“Wait!” Rosemary cried in dismay. “Give her a hand up, some of you men. I’ll fix you all up right away.”
There were, of course, neither high boots nor leggings in the airplane cabin, but Rosemary was equal to the occasion. Tearing up a blanket, she was soon busy fashioning moccasins for the ladies.
“Tie these cords about the bottoms of your trousers,” she said to the men. “Yes, we’ll go down to the hunting lodge. Be three or four hours anyway.”
“Where’s the trail?” She spoke now to the young co-pilot.
“See that big rock?”
“Yes.”
“Blazed trail starts there. Easy to follow. About half a mile. Fine place. Been there three times. Big fireplace. Bacon and other things to eat. You’ll enjoy your stay,” he chuckled.
“All airways are beaten trails to our pilots,” Rosemary murmured.
A cold wind came sweeping up the mountain. Sharp bits of snow cut at their cheeks. They were impatient to make a start when, as before, the dark-faced lady held them up.
“My bag!” she exclaimed. “I must have it!”