Then all was still again, except for the solid beat of the rain on
canvas and blanket, horse and man.
It cleared toward morning, and at dawn Dan was up and climbed the wall
on foot. At breakfast, on his return, we held a conference. He reported
that it was possible to reach the top--possible but difficult, and that
what lay on the other side we should have to discover later on.
A night's sleep had made Joe all business again. On the previous day he
had been too busy saving his camera and his life--camera first, of
course--to try for pictures. But now he had a brilliant idea.
"Now see here," he said to me; "I've got a great idea. How's Buddy about
water?"
"He's partial to it," I admitted, "for drinking, or for lying down and
rolling in it, especially when I am on him. Why?"
"Well, it's like this," he observed: "I'm set up on the bank of the
lake. See? And you ride him into the water and get him to scramble up on
one of those ice-cakes. Do you get it? It'll be a whale of a picture."
"Joe," I said, in a stern voice, "did you ever try to make a horse go
into an icy lake and climb on to an ice-cake? Because if you have, you
can do it now.
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