“Plenty of them and right in my own back yard. You can dig to your heart’s content.”
“How about the fishing?”
“I haven’t tried it myself, but the boys say there are lots of bullheads in Indian creek. Remember it?”
“I’ll never forget the time we were hunting rabbits and walked across the ice of the creek. It wasn’t frozen thick enough and we dropped through into water waist deep. Going home was the longest, coldest walk I’ve ever taken.”
“It wasn’t very pleasant,” nodded Janet’s father. “Did you hear about the experience of the girls?”
“Haven’t read a paper for weeks. I’ve been going day and night on retakes for the last picture. What happened?”
They slowed down for the edge of Clarion and Janet’s father, briefly and vividly, recounted the events of that harrowing night in the storm and bitter cold of Little Deer valley.
“I should have known about this,” said Henry Thorne quietly. “Why didn’t someone wire me?”
“I thought of it,” said Helen’s mother, “but it all happened so quickly. Then, after the girls were safe at home I thought wiring you would only prove disturbing and I knew you were going to the limit of your strength and endurance anyway.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded, sinking back in the rear seat. “My, but it’s great to be home.”