'That's all right," put in Joan, "except that I will be the one to go after help. You couldn't find your way in the dark and the snow, Phil. You know yourself that your direct perception isn't reliable as yet you'd get lost."
Both men protested. "Joan, you're not going to start off alone." "We can't permit that, Joan,"
"That's a lot of gallant nonsense. Of course I'm going."
"No." It was a duet.
"Then we all stay here tonight, and huddle around a fire. Ill go down in the morning."
"That might do," Ben conceded, "if "
"Good evening, friends." A tall, elderly man stood on the ledge behind them. Steady blue eyes regarded them from under shaggy white eyebrows. He was smooth shaven but a mane of white hair matched the eyebrows. Joan thought he looked like Mark Twain.
Cobum recovered first. "Good evening," he answered, "if it is a good evening which I doubt."
The stranger smiled with his eyes. "My name is Ambrose, ma'am. But your friend is in need of some assistance. If you will permit me, sir " He knelt down and examined Ben's leg, without removing the boot. Presently he raised his head. **This will be somewhat painful. I suggest, son, that you go to sleep." Ben smiled at him, closed his eyes, and gave evidence by his slow, regular breathing that he was asleep.
The man who called himself Ambrose slipped away into the shadows. Joan tried to follow him with perception, but this she found curiously hard to do. He returned in a few minutes with several straight sticks which he broke to a uniform length of about twenty inches. These he proceeded to bind firmly to Ben's left shin with a roll of cloth which he had removed from his trouser pocket.
When he was satisfied that the primitive splint was firm, he picked Coburn up in his arms, handling the not inconsiderable mass as if it were a child. "Come," he said.
They followed him without a word, back the way they had come, single file through the hurrying snowflakes. Five hundred yards, six hundred yards, then he took a turn that had not been on the path followed by Joan and the two men, and strode confidently away in the gloom. Joan noticed that he was wearing a light cotton shirt with neither coat nor sweater, and wondered that he had come so far with so little protection against the weather. He spoke to her over his shoulder,
"I like cold weather, ma'am."
He walked between two large boulders, apparently disappeared into the side of the mountain. They followed him and found themselves in a passageway which led diagonally into the living rock. They turned a corner and were in an octagonal living room, high ceilinged and panelled in some mellow, light-colored wood. It was softly illuminated by indirect lighting, but possessed no windows. One side of the octagon was a fireplace with a generous hearth in which a wood fire burned hospitably. There was no covering on the flagged floor, but it was warm to the feet.
The old man paused with his burden and indicated the comfortable fittings of the room three couches, old-fashioned heavy chairs, a chaise longue with a nod. "Be seated, friends, and make yourselves comfortable. I must see that your companion is taken care of. then we will find refreshment for you." He went out through a door opposite the one by which they had entered, still carrying Coburn in his arms.
Phu looked at Joan and Joan looked at Phil. "Well," he said, "what do you make of it?"
"I think we've found a 'home from home.' This is pretty swell."
"What do we do next?"
"I'm going to pull that chaise longue up to the fire, take off my boots, and get my feet warm and my clothes dry."
When Ambrose returned ten minutes later he found them blissfully toasting their tired feet before the fire. He was bearing a tray from which he served them big steaming bowls of onion soup, hard rolls, apple pie, and strong black tea. While doing so he stated, "Your friend is resting. There is no need to see him until tomorrow. When you have eaten, you will find sleeping rooms in, the passageway, with what you need for your immediate comfort." He indicated the door from which he had just come. "No chance to mistake them; they are the lighted rooms immediately at hand. I bid you goodnight now." He picked up the tray and turned to leave.
"Oh, I say," began Phil hesitantly, "This is awfully good of you. Mister, uh "
"You are very welcome, sirBierce is my name. Ambrose Bierce. Goodnight." And he was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE " Through a Class, Darkly"
WHEN PHIL ENTERED the living room the next moming he found a small table set with a very sound breakfast for three. While he was lifting plate covers and wondering whether good manners required him to wait until joined by others, Joan entered the room. He looked up.
"Oh! It's you. Good morning, and stuff. They set a proper table here. Look." He lifted a plate cover. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a corpse." She joined his investigations. "They do understand food, don't they? When do we start?"
"When number three gets here, I guess. Those aren't the clothes you had on last night."
"Like it?" She turned around slowly with a swaying mannequin walk. She had on a pearl grey gown that dropped to her toes. It was high waisted; two silver cords crossed between her breasts and encircled her waist, making a girdle. She was shod in silver sandals. There was an air of ancient days about the whole costume.
"It's swell. Why is it a girl always looks prettier in simple clothes?"
"Simple hmmf! If you can buy this for three hundred dollars on Wilshire Boulevard, I'd like to have the address of the shop."
"Hello, troops." Ben stood in the doorway. They both stared at him. "What's the trouble?"
Phil ran his eye down Ben's frame. "How's your leg, Ben?"
"I wanted to ask you about that. How long have I been out? The leg's all well. Wasn't it broken after all?"
"How about it, Phil?" Joan seconded. "You examined it I didn't."
Phil pulled his ear. "It was broken or I've gone completely screwy. Let's have a look at it."
Ben was dressed in pajamas and bathrobe. He slid up the pajama leg, and exposed a shin that was pink and healthy. He pounded it with his fist. "See that? Not even a bruise."
"Hmm You haven't been out long, Ben. Just since last night. Maybe ten or eleven hours."
"Huh?"
"That's right."
"Impossible."
"Maybe so. Let's eat breakfast."
They ate in thoughtful silence, each under pressing necessity of taking stock and reaching some reasonable reorientation. Toward the end of the meal they all happened to look up at once. Phil broke the silence
"Well... How about it?"
"I've just doped it out," volunteered Joan. "We all died in the snow storm and went to Heaven. Pass the marmalade, will you, please?"
"That can't be right," objected Phil, as he complied, "else Ben wouldn't be here. He led a sinful life. But seriously, things have happened which require explanation. Let's tick 'em off: One; Ben breaks a leg last night, it's all healed this morning."
"Wait a minute are we sure he broke his leg?"
"I'm sure. Furthermore, our host acted as if he thought so too else why did he bother to carry him? Two; our host has direct perception, or an uncanny knowledge of the mountainside."
"Speaking of direct perception," said Joan, "have either of you tried to look around you and size up the place?"
"No, why?" "Neither have I."
"Don't bother to. I tried, and it can't be done. I can't perceive past the walls of the room."