His alert gaze traveled swiftly around the bare interior. There was a rough stone chimney at one end, a shuttered window at the back, and that was all. Snow lay piled up on the cold hearth, and here and there made little ridges on the logs where it had filtered through the many cracks and crevices. Without the means of making fire, it was not much better than the out-of-doors, and Hedges' heart sank as he glanced at his companion, leaning exhausted against the wall.
“It's sure to stop pretty soon,” he said presently, with a confidence he did not feel. “When it lets up a little, we might—”
“I don't believe it's going to let up.” Seabury straightened with an odd, unwonted air of decision. “I was caught in a storm like this two years ago and it lasted over two days. We've got to do something, and do it pretty quick.”
Hedges stared at him, amazed at the sudden transformation. He did not understand that a long-continued nervous strain will sometimes bring about strange reactions.
“You're not thinking of pushing me all the way down the road, are you?” he protested. “I don't believe you could do it.”
“I don't believe I could, either,” agreed the other, frankly. “But I could go down alone and bring back help.”
“Gee-whiz! You—you mean skee down that road? Why, it's over three miles, and you'd miss the trail a dozen times.”
“I shouldn't try the road,” said Seabury, quietly. His face was pale, but there was a determined set to the delicate chin. “If I went straight down the hill back of this cabin, I'd land close to the school, and I don't believe the whole distance is over half a mile.”
Hedges gasped. “You're crazy, man! Why, you'd kill yourself in the first hundred feet trying to skee through those trees.”
“I don't think so. I've done it before—some. Besides, most of the slope is open fields. I noticed that when we started out.”