  Thus urged, Penny scrambled up the slippery, sloping side of the wall and reached the top safely. Completely spent, she lay there a moment resting. “Don’t give up!” she called to Mr. Eckenrod. “I’ll get back as fast as I can!” The closest house was the artist’s own cabin in the woods. Plunging through the big drifts, the girl pounded on the door. Almost at once it was opened by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and alert, blue eyes. Seeing the girl’s rumpled hair and snow-caked skiing suit, she immediately understood that something was wrong. “You’re Mrs. Eckenrod?” Penny gasped. “Yes, I am. What has happened?” “Your husband has had a bad fall and his leg may be broken! We’ll need a rope and a sled.” Mrs. Eckenrod won Penny’s admiration by the cool manner with which she accepted the bad news. After the first quick intake of breath, she listened attentively as Penny told her what had happened. “You’ll find a long rope in the shed,” she directed. “And a sled?” “The only one we have is a very small one my grandchildren use when they come here to play. It will have to do. You’ll find it in the shed too. While you’re getting the things, I’ll telephone a doctor to come right out!” “We’ll need a man to help us!” “No one lives within miles except those folks who moved into the monastery.” “We’ll get no help from there!” Penny said bitterly. “I’ll call Riverview for men!” “We don’t dare wait, Mrs. Eckenrod. Your husband is half frozen now. We’ll have to get him out ourselves somehow.” “If we must, we can,” replied the woman quietly. “I’ll telephone the doctor and be with you in a moment.” On her way to the shed, Penny looked hopefully across the darkening hills for a glimpse of the lone skier she had seen earlier in the afternoon. He was nowhere visible. By the time Penny had found a rope and the sled, Mrs. Eckenrod joined her. The woman had put on a heavy coat, galoshes, and carried woolen blankets. “How did the accident happen?” she asked, as they plodded through the drifts together. Penny related the unfortunate argument involving the theft of firewood. “Oh, dear! It’s Vernon’s dreadful temper again!” Mrs. Eckenrod exclaimed. “He is a wonderful man, but ready to quarrel if anyone crosses him!” “In this case, I think he was in the right,” Penny replied, helping her companion over a big drift. “I saw the hunchback take the wood, and I heard the argument.” “When those new people moved into the monastery, I was afraid we would have trouble with them. Something queer seems to be going on there.” “How do you mean?” Penny asked, recalling that she had expressed the identical thought at home. “Well, the house is so quiet and deserted by day. Come night, one hears all sorts of weird noises and sees roving lights. Last night I distinctly heard a woman scream twice. It was most unnerving.” “Have you noticed anyone except the hunchback and his master leaving the building?” “Only a young girl.” “Then I didn’t imagine it!” Penny exclaimed. Mrs. Eckenrod stared at her, puzzled by the remark. Penny did not take time to explain, for they now had reached the crevasse. Anxiously, the rescuers peered down into the darkening hole. “Vernon!” his wife cried. At sound of her voice, he stirred and sat up. Relieved that he was still conscious, Penny stretched out prone at the lip of the crevasse. Rapidly, she lowered the rope. “Knot it around your waist!” she instructed. Mr. Eckenrod obeyed and with a supreme effort, got up on his good leg. “Now up you come!” Penny shouted encouragingly. “If you can help just a little, I think we can make it.” Mrs. Eckenrod was a solidly built, strong woman. Even so, it was all the two could do to pull the artist up onto the overhanging ledge. Completely spent, he lay there for a while as his rescuers recaptured their breath. Then, the remaining distance was made with less difficulty. Penny and Mrs. Eckenrod rolled the man onto the sled, covering him with warm blankets. Even then, their troubles were not over. To pull the sled through the drifts to the cabin, took the last of their strength. “We did it!” Penny cried jubilantly as they made a saddle of their arms to carry the artist into the warm living room. Mrs. Eckenrod threw a log on the fire and went to brew hot coffee. Penny sponged the blood from the artist’s head but did not attempt to bandage it, knowing a doctor was on the way. Twenty minutes later, Dr. Wallace arrived from Riverview. After carefully examining the artist’s leg, he placed it in a splint and bandaged it. “You’ll be on crutches for a few days,” he told Mr. Eckenrod. “The bone may be cracked, but there is no break.” “That’s the best news I’ve heard today!” Mr. Eckenrod declared in relief. “I’ve got some important business to take up with a certain party!” “Vernon!” remonstrated his wife. After the doctor had gone, Mr. Eckenrod was put to bed on the davenport. But he refused to remain still. As the pain in his leg eased, he experimented walking with the aid of a chair. “I’ll be using my pins in three days at the latest!” he predicted. “Just as soon as I can get around, I’m going to the monastery and punch that hunchback’s nose!” “Vernon!” “Now don’t ‘Vernon’ me,” the artist glared at his wife. “The man richly deserves it! He’s a thief and bully!” Penny gathered up her mittens which had been drying by the hearth. “You may have trouble getting into the monastery,” she remarked. “If Winkey sees you first, he’ll probably lock the gate.” “You think that would stop me?” “How else could you get in? Over the fence?” “I know a way,” the artist hinted mysteriously. “Not another gate?” “No.” “A secret entrance?” Mr. Eckenrod’s quick grin told Penny that her guess had been right. “You did me a good turn today, so I’ll let you into the secret,” the artist said. “Help me hobble into the studio, and I’ll show you something that will make your eyes pop!” |
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