“Now,” said the girl in a half sob, “I know why these mountains appear to smoke.”
“If only we could find a way down,” said Johnny as he lent an arm to Gordon Duncan, who was struggling against the wind.
Of a sudden a burst of wind more terrible than ever seized the girl and sent her whirling down the white slope toward the unknown abyss beyond.
In the nick of time Johnny grasped the belt of her mackinaw. Throwing himself flat behind a low rock, he clung there like grim despair until the wind lost its power and the girl was drawn back to safety.
“You—you remember,” the girl panted, “we were going to try to slide down on the o—other side. I nearly did.”
“Game to the last,” Johnny thought.
“But your face is freezing!” Snatching off her deerskin mittens, the girl held snow against his cheeks to draw out the frost.
“There,” she said, “that’s done for this time. And now—”
“Now we must find a way down,” said Johnny.
“Tico,” the boy said, speaking to the dog cowering at his feet, “show us the way.”