Following the march of the mountains and the drift of the clouds, he turned towards Alder.

The piled water shook the dam, topped it, burst it into fragments, and rushed into freedom; he must go to Alder, have a drink, shake hands with a friend, kiss Betty Neal, and come back again.

Two days going, two days coming, three days for the frolic; a week would cover it all.

And two hours later Vic Gregg had cached his heavier equipment, packed his necessaries on the burro, and was on the way.
By noon he had dropped below the snowline and into the foothills, and with every step his heart grew lighter.

Behind him the mountains slid up into the heart of the sky with cold, white winter upon them, but here below it was spring indubitably.