air. It was like standing at the door of a huge refrigerator.
Then they climbed up the path a few steps, on the right of the drift, and made snowballs with the brittle, mushy moraine-stuff on the surface, which was quite dirty, with moss and rock dust blown over from the top of Washington.
"Snowballs in July!" cried Peanut, letting one fly at Art, who had walked out on the drift.
Art retaliated by washing Peanut's face.
It was getting close to noon now, and the party started back to camp. Hermit Lake was first inspected as a possible swimming pool, but given up because of the boggy nature of the shores. Instead, everybody took one chill plunge in the ice water of the little river which came down from the snow arch, and then they rubbed themselves to a pink glow, and started for the camp. Before they reached camp, Art sniffed, and said, "Smoke! Somebody's got a fire."
A second later, they heard voices, and came upon two men, building a fire against the boulder in front of the shelter.
"Hello, boys. This your stuff?" one of the men said. He was a tall, thin man, with colored goggles and a pointed beard. The other man was short and stout.
"Sure is," Peanut answered.
