As if understanding his mission, the dog began creeping forward along the ridge. Knowing nothing better to do, his human companions followed.
Ten yards, twenty, thirty, battered at and buffeted, faces cut by snow, knees bruised from creeping over rocks and hard packed snow, they moved forward.
Now they paused to thaw cheeks and noses. And now, as a ruder blast struck them, they flattened themselves against the snow and clung together like grim death. But still they struggled on.
But what was this? The dog had disappeared in the snow fog before them. Plucking up hope, they redoubled their efforts. Another twenty yards found them half sheltered by a ledge; another, and they were standing on their feet pushing forward down a gentle incline.
“Hurray! We win!” the boy shouted. “Good for Tico!”
Ten minutes later, beneath a cave-like sheltering ledge they paused to rest their trembling limbs and to take counsel for the future.
They were resting there in silence when of a sudden, some distance away, they heard the dog growl.
“It’s something dangerous or he wouldn’t growl like that. Come on,” said the girl.
“Only a footprint in the snow,” said Johnny a moment later as they came to the spot where the dog stood.
“But such a footprint!” said the girl, shaking as if seized with a sudden chill. “What can it be?”