The change in the wind upset all of the Major’s calculations. The two men talked together in low tones, for neither wished to alarm the lad; but each realized that unless it veered back to its original direction, they might find themselves, before very long, placed in a position of great danger.
“Those daring youngsters on the aeroplane worry me, too,” confessed the Major.
“I wouldn’t bother about ’em,” advised Kindale. “They’ve got nerve enough to get the best o’ a hurricane o’ flyin’ cats. What I don’t like is that white-bearded peak which seems to be stickin’ up there jist a-purpose to git us. Never could see no good in mountains, anyhow.”
Willie Sloan began to feel badly frightened. The stormy waste of clouds seemed to be close overhead. He watched them flying along, expecting every minute to see their ragged edges flung off into pelting drops of rain—the prelude to a steady downpour.
“My, those mountains look simply terrible,” he muttered. “And whew, but it’s awful cold.”
He pulled his coat collar closely about his neck, and, shivering with the chill air and anxiety, walked toward the engine.
“I don’t know what’s to be done, Major,” he heard the engineer confess.
“Then we’re bound to cut off the top o’ that mountain, eh, mister?” piped Willie, still more excited and alarmed.
Without waiting for a reply, the lad walked quickly to the forward end of the car. He was only dimly conscious of the fact that the “Ogden II” continued to stand by them.
The “Border City,” at a high altitude, was now over the mountain crests and approaching the grim-looking peak which dominated them all. Its summit pierced the lowest strata of clouds and disappeared from view.