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kept shouting back encouragement as each fresh cairn was picked up, and as Mr. Rogers knew the trail, and they had a map and compass, there were only a few delays while he or Art prospected ahead at blind spots. Alternately lying on their faces on the frozen, wet rocks to get their breaths, and pushing on into the gale, they struggled ahead for what seemed hours. Actually it was only half an hour. Half an hour to go 440 yards!
Suddenly, out of the vapor, not twenty-five feet ahead of them, loomed a small, gray shanty.
"Hoorah!" cried Art and Mr. Rogers. "The hut!"
