CHAPTER IX

BUCKING THE DRIFTS

It was heartbreaking work, for from that point on the road ascended steadily toward the top of the mountain, with hardly a level spot on it. A mile ahead lay the Pass, a narrow gorge in which the snow had drifted so deep as to make it almost impassable.

The car that Bob was driving was in the lead, and as they neared this dangerous place the disabled chauffeur gave him a word of advice.

"Open 'er wide, son," he counseled. "We'll have to buck drifts maybe two feet deep or more, and if we once have to stop, it means we'll stay there until somebody comes and digs us out. Give 'er all she'll take, and hold her on the road if you can."

Bob nodded, and opened the throttle little by little, while the chauffeur held his foot on the muffler cut-out pedal, in order to relieve the engine of all back pressure. Just before they reached the Pass, by some freak of the wind the road had been swept clear of snow for several hundred feet, and this gave the car an opportunity to gather speed.

Faster and faster it flew, until the speedometer needle registered fifty miles an hour. Then through the driving snow the entrance to the Pass loomed ahead, and the chauffeur gave an exclamation.

Before them was a snowdrift that looked almost as high as their car, stretching solidly across the road and leaving Bob not the shadow of a chance to dodge. He set his teeth, opened the throttle to the limit, and gripped the wheel with wrists braced strong as steel bars.

The heavy car hurtled into the drift with the force of a projectile shot from a big gun, throwing clouds of snow in every direction as it bored resistlessly through. The car skidded and twisted in every direction, and it was a supreme test of Bob's strength and skill to keep the powerful machine on its course. Big rocks lined the road, and more than once they shaved past these with only inches to spare.

Resistless with its initial momentum, the big car was nevertheless gradually losing speed as it penetrated further into the drift and the passive but deadly resistance of the snow began more and more to make itself felt. The engine began to labor, and Bob was on the point of shifting speeds, when suddenly the car broke through the farther side of the drift, seemed to shake the clinging flakes from it, and began to pick up speed again.

Those composing the little party never forgot the gruelling battle against odds that followed. The blustering wind had piled the snow in great drifts in some places, and in others had swept the road so clean that the frozen brown earth was visible for some distance.

On these stretches they would pick up speed, and then charge into the drifts and repeat the former battle. Over and over they did this, Bob driving like a master, with steely blue eyes fastened grimly on the road ahead, jaws set, and a face that looked ten years older than it really was. Those in the car spoke words of encouragement from time to time, but he was too busy and concentrated on his task to answer with anything other than a brief nod.

For what seemed like an age they ploughed through one huge drift after another, with the high rocky walls of the Pass frowning down at them till at last the rugged hills fell back from the road, the air lightened, and they were through the Pass, with less than two miles between them and the warmth and shelter of the hotel. The road now ran along a high ridge, which the wind had swept clear of snow, and Bob stopped the car and relaxed with a great sigh.

"Guess we'd better wait for the others to catch up," he said. "We broke a path for them, though, and it ought to be a lot easier for them than it was for us."

"You must be all in, Bob," said Joe. "You handled this car like an old timer, but now it's about time you had a relief. Why not let me take a hack at it for the rest of the way?"

But Bob laughed, and shook his head. "I wouldn't have missed that for a farm," he said. "It was hard work, but it was the best kind of sport, too. Besides, Jim here says that the road runs along this ridge almost to the doors of the hotel, and it will be easy sailing the rest of the way."

"I wonder what has become of the other cars?" said Mr. Layton, in a worried tone. "I hope nothing has happened to them."

He had hardly ceased speaking, when one of the automobiles appeared, so covered with snow that it was hard to believe that it was actually a car at all. Shortly afterward the Salper car appeared, came to a halt when its driver saw the other two at a standstill, and its French chauffeur descended and advanced stiffly to where Bob and the driver of the second Layton car were standing.

"Pah!" he exclaimed. "In all France there is no road like that which I have just traverse. I am hire to drive ze petrol car, not ze snow plough. It eez ze so great mystery zat we have arrive so far."

"Mystery is right," agreed Jim, the injured driver. "The only casualty up to date is my busted wing, which is a lot better than a busted neck. But you'd better get back in your glass house, Frenchy, because we're all frozen stiff, and the sooner we land at the hotel, the better. My arm feels as though it must be broken in twenty places."

The Frenchman looked doubtfully at Jim when he spoke of an injured "wing," but evidently set it down as being one more incomprehensible vagary of the English language, for he only shrugged his shoulders and returned to his car without comment.

The short day was drawing rapidly into night when the little party at last saw the cheerful lights of the hotel shining through the storm. Fifteen minutes later the lads were all seated in front of a roaring open fire in the big parlor and were telling their experiences to the amazed guests.

Bob was the only uncomfortable one in the crowd, as he heard everybody speaking in praise of the way he had risen to the emergency and was thankful for more reasons than one when dinner was announced.

"Dinner!" exclaimed Jimmy, rapturously. "Bob, I've got to hand it to you. Not only do you get us here through a howling blizzard, but you land us just in time for a turkey dinner. Oh my, oh my!"

The Mountain Rest Hotel had a reputation for serving generous meals, and for this the boys were thankful that night. Through all the long, cold day they had eaten nothing but a few sandwiches, and now they strove to make up for lost time. Not in vain, either. Even Jimmy had to own up that he could not eat another mouthful, which was a statement he could seldom truthfully make.

Owing to the sickness in Clintonia, there had been an unprecedented rush of visitors to the hotel, and the Layton party discovered that they would have to take one of the small cottages adjoining the hotel, although they would board in the main establishment.

The cottage was snug and comfortable, however, and they were all delighted with it. Indeed, it was better for the radio boys than rooms in the hotel, because they could set up their receiving set more readily. Of course, it was out of the question to erect an outdoor aerial, but they were not bothered by this and decided to use a loop aerial instead. They had brought with them a knock-down frame on which to wind their antenna, and this frame could be moved around and set against the wall when not in use.

The first night at Mountain Pass they had little thought, however, even for their beloved radio, and were content to tumble into bed shortly after dinner. But the next day they were up early, and after a hearty breakfast set to work to put up their set.