“Well, here I am,” she greeted them, “a thing of rags and patches, minus the patches.” She flopped down beside them with an anguished “Oh!” as her knees crumpled under her.
Fran gave her a sad, appraising glance. “I was just saying, there’s another trail down. We’ll have to slide on some ice, but it’s nothing much and we can save an hour, maybe more.”
Mr. Lurie shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we better stick to the same trail even if it’s longer.”
Marian perked up, suddenly alert. “Fran, did you say we can save an hour? That would get us down by six or seven. Golly, what’s keeping us? It can’t be worse than what I’ve been through already!”
“No,” Fran said reassuringly, “in many ways it’s easier. Just a slide or two, nothing to it.”
“Good! I’m ready,” she said, getting up shakily. “The sooner this ghastly trip is over, the better.” She tenderly felt her mud-spattered, torn jeans. “If these rents get any worse, I may be very anxious for night to fall,” she said, still able to smile at herself.
In twenty minutes they reached a gully, crossed it, and came to what looked like an icefield. At one extremity it sloped precipitously and beyond it lay a stretch of flat land with scrub.
“From there on,” Fran gestured, “there’s a trail going straight down. I heard it was once the bed of a river made from centuries of melting snow from the mountain top. Anyhow, the trail’s pretty dry at this time of year. Steep all right, but short.”
He picked up a large, sturdy stick that lay discarded among the stones and walked on the ice, hitting it several times, testing it.
“Couldn’t be better.” He turned and faced his companions. “Each of us will in turn sit on this ledge of ice, getting as close to the very edge as we can. Then let yourself go. Slide down the ice. That’s all there is to it. I’ll go down first. Remember, the main thing is to let yourself go—easy like. There’s some brush that I’ll grab as I hit the bottom and break my speed. Then I roll over. But you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be there as you come down.”