"Then it looks like we go to the lodge," Retief said. "Lead on, Anne-Marie." "What about the boat?" Chip asked. "I'll send someone to see to it tomorrow," the girl said. "You're some gal," Chip said admiringly. "Dern near six feet, ain't ye? And built, too, what I mean." They stepped out of the door into a whipping wind. "Let's go across to the equipment shed and get parkas for you," Anne-Marie said. "It will be cold on the slopes." "Yeah," Chip said, shivering. "I've heard you folks don't believe in ridin' ever time you want to go a few miles uphill in a blizzard." "It will make us hungry," Anne-Marie said. "Then Chip will cook a wonderful meal for us all." Chip blinked. "Been cookin' too long," he muttered. "Didn't know it showed on me that way." Behind the sheds across the wind-scoured ramp abrupt peaks rose, snow-blanketed. A faint trail led across white slopes, disappearing into low clouds. "The lodge is above the cloud layer," Anne-Marie said. "Up there the sky is always clear." It was three hours later, and the sun was burning the peaks red, when Anne-Marie stopped, pulled off her woolen cap and waved at the vista below. "There you see it," she said. "Our valley." "It's a mighty perty sight," Chip gasped. "Anything this tough to get a look at ought to be." Anne-Marie pointed. "There," she said. "The little red house by itself. Do you see it, Retief? It is my father's home-acre." Retief looked across the valley. Gaily painted houses nestled together, a puddle of color in the bowl of the valley. "I think you've led a good life there," he said. Anne-Marie smiled brilliantly. "And this day, too, is good." Relief smiled back. "Yes," he said. "This day is good." "It'll be a durn sight better when I got my feet up to that big fire you was talking about, Annie," Chip said. They climbed on, crossed a shoulder of broken rock, reached the final slope. Above, the lodge sprawled, a long low structure of heavy logs, outlined against the deep-blue twilight sky. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys at either end, and yellow light gleamed from the narrow windows, reflected on the snow. Men and women stood in groups of three or four, skis over their shoulders. Their voices and laughter rang in the icy air. Anne-Marie whistled shrilly. Someone waved. "Come," she said. "Meet all my friends." A man separated himself from the group, walked down the slope to meet them. "Anne-Marie," he called. "Welcome. It was a long day without you." He came up to them, hugged Anne-Marie, smiled at Retief. "Welcome," he said. "Come inside and be warm." They crossed the trampled snow to the lodge and pushed through a heavy door into a vast low-beamed hall, crowded with people, talking, singing, some sitting at long plank tables, others ringed around an eight-foot fireplace at the far side of the room. Anne-Marie led the way to a bench near the fire. She made introductions and found a stool to prop Chip's feet near the blaze. Chip looked around.