Spider was the first up. “Come,” he said, “we got to find the rim road before it’s dark.”
“Eight miles!” Bennie sighed. “Oh, you automobile!”
“Come on—no use crying for automobiles. We got to find that road and hoof it. We can’t stay out all night in these wet clothes, without any blankets.”
Bennie got up wearily. “All right. The old road’ll be pretty close. All we got to do is walk down the back slope, away from the rim.”
“But it’s all snow,” said Spider. “How’ll we know the road when we see it?”
“If we can’t tell a road when we come to it, snow or no snow, we’re bum scouts and deserve to stay here and freeze to death,” Bennie retorted.
As a matter of fact, in spite of the snow, they did find the road, by catching at a distance a cut through trees, and then by picking up a long open space bare of snow, which the road crossed, showing plainly. Once on it, the chance of missing it again was not great unless the night got very dark. With bright starlight, even without a moon, the tired scouts, as they plodded along, now for brief welcome stretches on the bare ground, but mostly on the soft drifts where every step was an effort, reckoned they could keep the trail.
“Besides,” Bennie said, “if we lost it, we could always sort of follow the rim.”
“Yes, and have to climb up over the top of the Watchman and Glacier Peak. No, thanks. I’ve climbed enough today. It’ll be in woods a lot of the way, and we can always feel the opening. You know how we can follow a wood road at home in the dark.”
“Oh, you home!” sighed Bennie. “Think of bacon, and coffee, and baked potatoes! Oh, boy, I’m going to cry in a minute, I’m so empty.”