The following morning was brisk and cold. The chill wind blowing down over the Khumbu glacier ramrodded through the camp like a herd of frightened yaks. Frank crawled out of his tent and strode to the latrine under the lifting gray clouds that were retreating to the east. It was early, maybe 6:00 or 6:30, and the rattle of yellow tent skins shuddering in the wind drowned out the stirrings of the camp around him. As he marched over the moraine to take care of his body’s business, he saw Sarah poking her head out of her tent.
She scanned the surrounding encampment as her hair whipped around her shoulders, lashing her face. Frank shook his head. She had turned into a real trooper, and in many ways she was stronger than some of the men he’d seen lumbering around camp. Had she a mind to climb,
