Ellie's Christmas Prayer

by Ruth Scott

The sun hung low in the western sky as two weary prospectors plodded down a narrow, snowy road. Already the clouds resting on the craggy mountain peaks glowed pink and gold, and soon shadows darkened the travelers’ path.

“I reckon it’s at least five miles more to a settlement, Jim.” Bill Brand thrust his walking stick into the snow. “No way can we make it before dark, and I’m tired enough to flop right here in the snow for the night.”

Jim Fry snorted. “I’m for movin’ on, Bill, till we come to the first shack. Must be one not far around this next bend. Why should two lucky gold panners sleep out in the cold—and on the night before Christmas Eve, no less?” Jim lengthened his stride, and Bill huffed to catch up with him.