At dawn, Sisson scrambled back down into the canyon floor for water while Tom stood sentry on the ridge. When Sisson came back, he had three canteens full of water and his shirt stuffed with wet green plants.

“What are those?” Tom asked.

“Skunk cabbage. You can eat them. Won't hurt you.”

Tom took a tentative bite, chewed slowly and carefully, and then spit out the mash. “I ain't eating that.”

“Won't hurt you,” Sisson repeated. And when Tom said nothing, Sisson added, “Give you some heat. Long, cold walk. Might be more of it up the canyon, but I don't know. Suit your ownself, but it's probably the best you're going to get, and it's the only heat you're going to get, too.”

Tom scowled but took another bite. This time he chewed quickly and swallowed. “Not so bad if you don't actually eat it.”

“Guess it don't matter, long as it gets into your stomach.”

Tom went on taking small bites, chewing a few times quickly, then swallowing. When John next came awake, Tom put a leaf into his mouth. John spit it out. “I know. I feel much the same, but you got to eat it.” John's good eye rolled a bit, failed to focus, and then closed. Tom put another leaf into John's mouth, and again John spit it out.

“Oh, the hell.” Tom took a big bite and chewed it well, leaned over, pulled John's mouth open, and spit the mash into it. He pushed John's jaw shut and held it while John coughed and tried to spit, and he did not let go until John had finally swallowed.

“Damned cold,” Tom said.

“Better than the night,” Sisson said.

“Not that much, but some. Maybe we should go back to walking at night and sleeping in the day.”

“No,” Sisson said. “Too dangerous. Can't see where we're going, and there's a lot of ice. Not much moon anymore, either. No, we got to walk in the light and try to sleep at night. We ought to get going.”

The ascent got steeper, and they struggled with John. They were getting closer to the snow line now. Tom dreaded it. It would be slower, even more miserable, and once into it, they would be in it for a long, grueling time. By afternoon they had made their way over the ridge, into another canyon, and back up to still another, shorter ridge. They climbed into the snow and back out of it and then into it again. By the time they had come down out of the snow for the second time, Sisson estimated they were four, maybe five miles from the entrance to Bonita Canyon, and he set about gathering wood for fire and shelter.