"It's a ten-mile
pull to the next camp, but you can make it all right."
"And that's the first flaw in your reasoning," the other objected.
"Why, necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this
cabin first."
"But Tess can't get out," Womble explained. "Her lungs are already
slightly chilled."
"I agree with you. She can't venture ten miles of frost. By all
means she must remain."
"Then it is as I said," Womble announced with finality.
Messner cleared his throat. "Your lungs are all right, aren't
they?"
"Yes, but what of it?"
Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking and
judicial slowness. "Why, I may say, nothing of it, except, ah,
according to your own reasoning, there is nothing to prevent your
getting out, hitting the frost, so to speak, for a matter of ten
miles. You can make it all right."
Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in her
eyes a glint of pleased surprise.
"Well?" he demanded of her.
She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned
upon Messner.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84