"Don't think one could have carried you off," said Dick, facetiously. "Their limit was a horse or elephant."
The timber line was left behind. There was nothing now but stunted vegetation, barren rocks, and, above them, perpetual snow.
"And this," observed Havens, waving his hand, "is the home of the big horn and mountain goat. Is it getting too steep for you?" He dislodged a rock, which rattled noisily down the incline.
"It's dangerous; besides, we can't see," grumbled the "poet." "In a few minutes, it will be like trying to climb up the side of a cathedral."
"Seems out of the world," declared Dick; "and say, that cold is getting worse—whew!"
He pulled up his collar, and the others followed suit.
"Hello! Rain at last."
The four shadowy forms came to a halt. A few big drops sprinkled around them, then increased to a steady patter. A flock of screaming birds darted swiftly by.
"H'm, flying before the storm," murmured Dave. "Sounds kind of ominous. Let's grope around a bit for a more sheltered place. Out here we're a regular target."
But before they had gone far, a torrent was beating in their faces. Clinging to whatever support they could find, the four huddled together and awaited the outcome.