Pitt was only ten minutes away from the camp when the storm struck. One minute he could see nearly twenty kilometers, the next his visibility was cut to less than five meters.
He started jogging, desperately hoping he was traveling in something remotely resembling a straight line. The horizontally driving snow came against his left shoulder and he leaned into it slightly to compensate for his drift.
The wind increased and beat against him until he could barely stand. He shuffled blindly forward, looking down at his feet, counting his strides, his arms huddled about his head. He knew it was impossible to walk sightless without gradually wandering in a circle. He was also aware that he could walk past the archaeolgists' hut, missing it by a few meters, and stumble on until he dropped from exhaustion.
Despite the high wind-chill factor, his heavy clothing kept him reasonably warm, and he could tell by his heartbeat that he was not unduly exerting himself.
Pitt paused when he calculated that he was in the approximate vicinity of the hut. He continued walking another thirty paces before stopping again.
He turned to his right and moved over about three meters until he could still see his footprints trailing off in the blowing snow from the opposite direction. Then he walked parallel to his original path, mowing the lawn as if he was searching for an object beneath the sea. He took about sixty steps before his old footprints faded and disappeared m the snow.
He walked five lanes before he swung to his right again, repeating the pattern until he was sure he had retraced the now obliterated center line. Then he picked up the grid again on the other side. On the third lane he stumbled into a snowdrift and fell against a metal wall.
He followed it around two corners before meeting a rope that led to a door. With a great sigh of relief, Pitt pushed open the door, savoring the knowledge that his life had been in danger and he had won. He stepped inside and tensed.
This was not the living quarters, but rather a large Quonsetlike shelter covering a series of excavations in the exposed earth. The interior temperature was not much above freezing, but he was thankful to be safe from the gale-force wind.
The only light came from a Coleman lantern. At first he thought the structure was deserted, but then a head and pair of shoulders seemed to rise up from a trough in the ground. The figure was kneeling, facing away from Pitt, and seeming absorbed in carefully scraping loose gravel from a small shelf in the trough.
Pitt stepped from the shadows and looked down.
'you'ready?' he asked.
Lily spun around, more puzzled than startled. The light was in her eyes and all she could make out was a vague form.
'Ready for what?'
'To go out on the town.'
The voice came back to her. She lifted the lamp and slowly rose to her feet. She looked into his face, captivated once again by Pitts eyes, while he was taken by her dark red hair that looked like fire under the bright light of the hissing Coleman.
'Mr. Pitt . . . isn't it?' She slipped off her right glove and extended her hand.
He also removed his glove, reached out and gave her hand a firm squeeze.
'I prefer attractive ladies to call me Dirk.'
She felt like an embarrassed little girl, mad at herself for not having any makeup On, wondering if he noticed the calluses on her hand. And to make it worse, she could feel herself blushing.
'Lily Sharp,' she stammered. 'My friends and I were hoping we could thank you for last night. I thought you were joking about dinner. I really didn't think I'd see you again.'
'As you can hear-' he paused and tilted his head toward the moaning wind outside. a blizzard couldn't keep me away.'
'You must be crazy.'
'No, just stupid for thinking I could outrun an Arctic storm.'
They both laughed and the tension fell away. Lily began to climb out of the excavation trough. Pitt took her arm and helped her up. She winced and he quickly released his grip.
'You shouldn't be on your feet.'
Lily smiled gamely. 'Stiff and a little sore from a sea of black-and-blue marks I can't show you, but I'll live.'
Pitt held up the lantern and peered around the oddly grouped rocks and excavations. 'Just what is it you have here?'
'An ancient Eskimo village, inhabited one hundred to five hundred years after Christ.'
'Have you a name for it?'
'We call the site Gronquist Bay Village after Dr. Hiram Gronquist, who discovered it five years ago.'
'One of the three men I met last night?'
'The big man who was knocked unconscious.'
'How's he getting along?'
'Despite a large purplish dome on his forehead, he swears he doesn't suffer from headaches or dizziness. When I left the hut he was roasting like a turkey.'
'Turkey?' Pitt repeated, surprised. 'You must have a firstrate supply system.'
'A vertical-lift Minerva aircraft, on loan to the university by a wealthy alumnus, flies in once every two weeks
