But Dumplin’ didn’t laugh. He looked up that terrific incline to the ice-capped summit precipices, and said, “Do we have to cross those chutes?”
“We do if we want to climb Jefferson,” the doctor answered.
“Tell Mama I was a good boy,” Dumplin’ groaned.
“Shut up!” said his father, sharply. “Uncle Billy knows what he’s about.”
Without further words, the doctor started out on to the big snow-field, cutting steps as he went. Bennie followed, his arm and shoulder aching now, his heart thumping a little in his chest as he thought of those chutes ahead. When they reached the first one, it turned out to be about six feet deep and eight feet wide. The sides were almost straight, and the snow on the bottom was packed hard and smooth.
His uncle beckoned Bennie up to him.
“Drive in your stock,” he said, “and play me out on the rope. If we hear anything coming, take up the slack, and haul me back to you.”
He started cutting steps down the side, across the bottom, and up the farther side. Nothing happened, and once across, he cut a good firm step to brace his foot on, faced back toward the chute, told Dumplin’ to come up to Bennie, and then he took up the slack of rope between himself and Bennie, while Dumplin’ played out the rope behind. In this way, everybody got across.
“Well, that’s that,” said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. “Now for the next one.”
The next chute turned out to be just about the same size, and they crossed it slowly and cautiously, by the same method. Again nothing happened, and soon they were at the lava island, which turned out to be much nearer the northwest shoulder than it had looked. Here they sank down on some firm rock to rest, and while they rested, the sun peeped over the shoulder of the mountain south of them, and almost instantly the snow all around leaped into a blinding dazzle. The boys, who had taken their colored glasses off, put them hurriedly on again.