"You know, Bruce, whenever the snow on the peaks is so white--" "Shut up--an' let's get a fire! Good thing we had sense enough to cover our grub with the blankets.

Are yo' wet ?" Langdon was wringing the water from his hair.

He felt like a drowned rat.
"No.

I was under a thick balsam, and prepared for it.

When you called my attention to the whiteness of the snow on the peaks I knew--" "Forget the snow," growled Bruce, and Langdon could hear him breaking off dry pitch-filled twigs under a spruce.
He went to help him, and five minutes later they had a fire going.