Behind the Green Door Part 15

Head and shoulders through the opening, Penny glanced about curiously.

The room under the roof certainly did not look like a prison cell. It was snug and warm, with curtains at the windows and books lining the wall shelves. The floor was covered with a bright colored rag rug. There was a comfortable looking bed, a rocker and even a dressing table.

"Thanks for letting me out."

Penny turned to gaze at the girl who stood directly behind her. She was not very pretty, for her nose was far too blunt and her teeth a trifle uneven. One could see a faint resemblance to Peter Jasko.

"You're welcome, I guess," replied Penny, but with no conviction. "I hope your grandfather won't be too angry."

"Oh, he won't know about it," the girl answered carelessly. "I see you know who I am--Sara Jasko."

"My name is Penny Parker."

"I guessed the Penny part. I saw you trying to write it in the snow. You don't believe in signs either, do you?"

"I didn't have any right to trespa.s.s."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Grandfather is an old fuss-budget. But deep down inside he's rather nice."

"Why did he lock you up here?"

"It's a long story," sighed Sara. "I'll tell you about it later. Come on, let's get out of here."

Penny backed down the ladder. The amazing granddaughter of Peter Jasko followed, taking the steps as nimbly as a monkey.

Going to a closet, Sara pulled out a wind-breaker, woolen cap, and a stub-toed pair of high leather shoes which she began to lace up.

"You're not aiming to run away?" Penny asked uneasily.

"Only for an hour or so. This snow is too beautiful to waste. But you'll have to help me get back to my prison."

"I don't know what this is all about. Suppose you tell me, Sara."

"Oh, Grandfather is funny," replied the girl, digging in the closet again for her woolen gloves. "He doesn't trust me out of his sight when there's snow on the ground. Today he had to go up the mountain to get a load of wood so he locked me in."

"What has snow to do with it?"

"Why, everything! You must have heard about Grandfather. He hates skiing."

"Oh, and you like to ski," said Penny, "is that it?"

"I adore it! My father, Bret Jasko, was a champion." Sara's animated face suddenly became sober. "He was killed on this very mountain. Grandfather never recovered from the shock."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," murmured Penny sympathetically.

"It happened ten years ago while my father was skiing. Ever since then Grandfather has had an almost fanatical hatred of the hotel people. And he is deathly afraid I'll get hurt in some way. He forbids me to ski even on the easy slopes."

"But you do it anyway?"

"Of course. I slip away whenever I can," Sara admitted cheerfully.

"Skiing is in my blood. I couldn't give it up."

"And you don't mind deceiving your grandfather?"

"You don't understand. There's no reasoning with him. Each year he gets a little more set in his ways. He knows that I slip away to ski, and that's why he locks me up. Otherwise, Grandfather is a dear. He's taken care of me since my father died."

Sara wriggled into her awkward-fitting coat, wrapped a red scarf about her throat and started for the door.

"Coming, Penny?"

"I haven't promised yet that I will help you get back into your cubby-hole."

"But you will," said Sara confidently.

"I suppose so," sighed Penny. "Nevertheless, I don't particularly like this."

They stepped out of the cabin into the blinding sunlight. The storm had stopped, but the wind blew a gust of snow from the roof into their faces.

"My skis are hidden in the woods," said Sara. "We'll walk along the fence so my footprints won't be so noticeable."

"The place is pretty well marked up now," Penny observed dryly. "Your grandfather would have to be blind not to see them."

"Yes, but they're your tracks, not mine," grinned Sara. "Besides, this strong wind is starting to drift the snow."

They followed the barbed wire fence to the woods. Sara went straight to an old log and from its hollow interior drew out a pair of hickory jumping skis.

"Let's walk up to Mrs. Downey's lodge," she proposed. "Her chute is a dandy, but most of the guests are afraid to use it."

"I haven't tried it myself," admitted Penny. "It looks higher than Pike's Peak."

"Oh, you have plenty of nerve," returned Sara carelessly. "I saw you take Grandfather's barbed wire entanglements."

"That was a matter of necessity."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," laughed Sara, linking arms with Penny and pulling her along at a fast pace. "I'll teach you a few tricks."

They climbed the slope steadily until forced to pause for a moment to catch their breath.

"Mrs. Downey isn't using the bob-sled run this year, is she?" Sara inquired curiously.

"I didn't know anything about it."

"She has a fine one on her property, but it's out of sight from the lodge. I guess there haven't been enough guests this season to make it worth while. Too bad. Bob-sled racing is even more fun than skiing."

Coming within view of the Downey lodge, Penny observed that a few of the more hardy guests had taken advantage of the lull in the storm, and were out on the slopes, falling, picking themselves up, falling again.

"I have to run into the house a minute," Penny excused herself. "I'll be right back."

She found Mrs. Downey in the kitchen and reported to her that she had been unable to purchase papers in the village.