Part 25 (1/2)
”Say, Joe, you'll need some supper to fill them!” Bob cried.
”Never mind,” said Lucy. ”They are dry.”
The chalet now smelled of drying clothes and drying leather. Over both stoves hung stockings and trousers and even underclothes, and behind them stood rows of boots. Outside, the wind was howling and shaking the entire house with every gust. It was almost as dark as if it had been evening, though it was only five o'clock, and Bob, peering through the steamed window pane, suddenly cried, ”Hi! look quick--snow!” and opened the front door to dash out.
As he lifted the latch, the wind caught the door and blew it wide open, a great gust of snow swirling in, half across the room.
”Say, is this August first or January first?” Mr. Elkins demanded. ”I thought we came to a summer resort, not Greenland.”
”Our mountains are just showing off for you a bit,” Mills smiled, as the young people and Joe, in spite of the gale, went out on the porch to see the snow-storm driving past.
But they were soon driven in, blowing on their fingers, and brus.h.i.+ng the snow off their clothes.
”The man who built this old shack right here gets my vote,” Bob declared. ”Say, ma, how'd you like to be on your prancing steed right now, up on top of the Pa.s.s, still seven miles from blighty? Eh, wot?”
”Thanks,” said Mrs. Jones. ”I prefer it here.”
”I know!” Lucy said. ”Let's have afternoon tea.”
”All those in favor say aye--the ayes have it--it's a vote--Joe, go to it,” cried Bob. ”That's the way they put a bill through in dad's old Congress--just like that.”
Joe got out the tea and the cups, and with Alice and Lucy helping, they soon had hot tea on the table, and a big plate of crackers, and a lot of sweet chocolate Mr. Jones bought at the little counter by the manager's desk.
”Let the wild winds howl; what do we care for your old August blizzards?” said Bob, as he pa.s.sed his cup to Joe for a second helping.
When tea was over, Joe set about cooking a good, hot dinner, for he had a real stove to work with now, and an oven. He mixed dough for hot biscuit, got out eggs for omelettes, tins of soups, made a batter for griddle cakes, and opened his last can of preserved peaches for dessert.
While he was working, with Val sitting in a corner, telling him stories about broncho busting, there came a sudden stamping of feet on the porch outside, the door opened, and two men, covered with snow, with heavy packs on their backs, almost fell into the kitchen.
Val sprang up and caught one of them as he staggered and was about to tumble. Mills and the manager of the chalet came hurrying in from the front room. Joe jumped to his stove and poured boiling water on some fresh tea leaves.
While the others were getting the two men into chairs, and pulling off their soaked clothes, Joe steeped his tea, and brought each of them a big tin mug full. They swallowed it eagerly, and brightened up. They changed into dry clothes, supplied partly from their own packs and partly from the manager's wardrobe. ”You see,” the man said, ”I keep old clothes here for just such emergencies.”
They were from a mid-western city, and had come to Glacier for a vacation. Being fond of walking, and also wanting to do the Park as cheaply as they could, they had decided to hike from point to point.
They had already come over Piegan Pa.s.s from the south, and stopped last night at the tepee camp at Many Glacier. To-day they had first visited Iceberg Lake, and then, in spite of the threatened rain (it had not rained till long after noon on the east side of the Divide, they said), they had climbed Swift Current Pa.s.s, headed for this chalet. They had run into the heavy cloud near the top of the Pa.s.s, but did not expect any trouble in finding their way, because the trail is well marked by countless horses. But in the Pa.s.s meadow they got the full force of the storm, where the snow hit them, and before they got across, the track was obliterated; the cloud was so dense they could not see fifty feet ahead, and they were almost benumbed with the cold. However, they continued to pick up trail marks here and there, and stumbled down finally till they saw the chalet looming up under the cloud mantle.
”We never expected anything like this, in mid-summer,” one of them said, ”or, of course, we wouldn't have climbed the Pa.s.s to-day.”
”You wouldn't get it once in five years,” Mills answered,--”but there's always a time, you know. That's why the chalet's here.”
The two men were so tired that Joe's party offered to share dinner with them, relieving them of the task of cooking, since the regular cook employed by the chalet had deserted the day before and all guests now had to s.h.i.+ft for themselves. It was quite a party that sat down to table, with Val as waiter and Joe turning the omelettes and tossing the griddle cakes on the stove. They ate by the light of a lamp, though up there, ordinarily, at seven o'clock it would have been bright daylight.
Outside the wind howled, the snow flew, and the house shook as if hit by a giant fist as each gust struck it
But suddenly, as Joe was dis.h.i.+ng out the canned peaches in the kitchen, he heard a cry from Bob.
”Hi, look--it's getting light--oh, gee, folks--come quick!”
When Joe came into the room with what dishes Val could not carry, he found every one up from the table and crowded at the west windows. The lamplight had paled. Into the windows was pouring the last rays of the setting sun, over behind the Livingston Range, the other side of the canon. These rays came out of a great, blue hole in the wall of clouds, and seemed to stream like a vast search-light along the under side of the cloud wrack overhead. They pierced right through the falling snow, which turned to a dancing, dazzling veil of golden crystals between the windows and the sun. And, against the hole into the west, stood up the snow-crowned pyramid of Trapper's Peak, while, to the south, just emerging from the clouds, its great snow-fields tinged with sunset as with blood and gold, rose the beautiful cone of Heaven's Peak, s.h.i.+ning, mysterious, magnificent.