They had left the ice and were threading along the little ledge that gave onto the boulder field.
"We are four," said the man. He seemed to sense no sarcasm in the question. Drinkard noted, almost without surprise, that the ruddy glow had faded completely and that the man was simply a dark silhouette ahead.
They reached the tundra and Chuck Evers' voice hailed them from close by. He sat near the tiny fire, the taped foot and ankle eased on a pack-sack before him.
"Well," said Evers, "you took your time."
"I fell in a crevasse," John Drinkard said, "and I owe you five bucks."
"You should put the more important statement first, but we can take that up later. I see we have company."
"I'm sorry." His rescue from the crevasse and the little trek back across the glacier had been like something from a dream to John Drinkard. But now, with the familiar figure of Chuck across the fire, things suddenly assumed their proper proportions again.
He faced his guide, who stood silently by.
"This is Chuck Evers. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."