“‘Blow high, blow low,
Not all your snow
Can quench our hearth-fire’s
Ruddy glow.’”
She smiled to herself. Their tiny fire had gone out long ago, but another might easily be kindled.
She was about to turn over in her bed for another ten winks, when she suddenly remembered the mysterious discovery of the night before—the ashes and the bones, and at once she found herself eager for an exploration of the place. To discover if possible what sort of people had been here before her; to guess how long ago that had been; to search for any relics they may have left behind—all these exerted upon her mind an irresistible appeal.
She had risen and was drawing on her knickers when Attatak awakened.
“Come on,” Marian cried, “it is morning. The storm is still tearing away at the mountain side. We can’t go on our way. We—”
“Eleet-pon-a-muck!” (too bad), broke in Attatak. “Now Bill Scarberry will get our pasture. The Agent will pass before we arrive. We shall have no one to defend our herd.”
At this Marian plumped down upon her sleeping bag. What Attatak said was true. Should they be unable to leave the cave this day, the gain they had hoped to make was lost.