Down went Sam on his knee. He made close inspection; pulled experimentally at one of the sandals; shook his head.
“Your left foot’s too far back—gives you no toe-hold. Want me to shift it?”
“Wish you would!” said Varley heartily. With interest he watched Sam set to work deftly, loosening the thongs which bound the sandal to the web and then readjusting them and knotting them firmly.
“There! Guess that’ll give the play you need,” said Sam, and stood up.
Varley nodded. “Feels better, anyway. And I say! Mind, do you, if I trot along with you?”
“Course not—come along!” Sam told him with real heartiness.
Varley ran his glance over the miles of country visible from the little elevation on which they stood. The morning air was wonderfully clear, and the snow glittered bravely in the wintry sunshine.
“Oh, but this is bully!” he exclaimed.
“’Tis pretty good,” Sam admitted. “Look! Notice that peak sticking up to the north—way off—right on the sky-line? That’s old Pequaket—one of the big hills, you know. It’s all of seventy miles off—you can’t see it, except when things are right. And the little mountain to the south—that’s Rainbow. ’Tisn’t much of a mountain, at that, but somehow it manages to make quite a show. And there’s a hotel at the base of it. Nice place, too. Began by being a summer house, but now one wing’s kept open for folks who come up for winter sports.”
Varley shaded his eyes with his hand. “How far away’s the little mountain—Rainbow, you called it, didn’t you?”