A CLIMB FOR LIBERTY.
A youth in the situation of Fred Greenwood cannot reason clearly, even
though he be right in his main conclusions. He had settled into the
belief that Motoza, the Sioux, had determined to subject him to a
lingering death through starvation; and yet if it were he--as
undoubtedly it was--who rolled the boulder into the canyon, it indicated
a wish to put the most sudden end possible to his existence.
It would be painful to attempt to describe the experience of the lad in
the cavern at the side of the canyon. As is often the case, his hunger
diminished and was succeeded by a dull indifference, in which the
suffering of the mind outweighed that of the body. The dreadful day at
last drew to an end, and his situation and condition were much the same
as earlier in the forenoon. He had not seen a living person, and had
given over all hope of another visit from his merciless enemy.
"He means that I shall perish for want of food, and there is no help for
it."
But with the coming of darkness the energy of the boy's nature asserted
itself. It was impossible now for the Sioux or his allies to maintain a
watch upon the mouth of the cavern, where the lad was observed the
moment he showed himself, and Fred determined that as soon as it was
fairly dark he would make an attempt that should be crowned with success
or that would end his sufferings and wretchedness.
His plan was to let himself down from the ledge to the top of the
nearest rock, and then try to reach the break in the canyon as he had
ascended it under the guidance of his captor. It was not to be supposed
that the vigilant Motoza would leave the way open for him, though his
actions pointed to the belief that it was utterly impossible for the
prisoner to escape by that means.
Nor in truth was it possible, for in the impenetrable gloom he was
certain to miss his foothold sooner or later and be flung into the
torrent, with no possibility of the good fortune that attended Jack
Dudley, who had a much less distance to traverse.
It was yet early in the evening when Fred came once more and for the
last time to the front of the cavern. With that attention to trifling
matters which a person sometimes shows in the most trying crises he
wound up his watch, examined his clothing to see that everything was
right, adjusted his hat so that it was not likely to be displaced, and
looked out in the gloom. All that he could see was when he gazed upward
and observed a few stars twinkling in the thin streak of sky.
"Two things are certain," he mused: "that Indian does not think it
possible for me to make my way out of the canyon; and, if I should
succeed, he will be on the watch for me and shoot or try to force me to
return. He shall never get me back here, for I will take the risk of
drowning, and then----"
A thought flashed through him like an inspiration and fairly took away
his breath.
Why not climb the side of the canyon?
He was so overcome by the question, which seemed born of heaven, that he
stood dazed and bewildered. Then he became cool again and asked:
"Is it possible?"
He recalled that Hank Hazletine had told him he had done it during the
daytime, and it must have been somewhere in this neighborhood. The task
would seem easy if the sun were shining, but if it were shining Fred
Greenwood would not have been permitted to make the attempt.
He was convinced of another thing: the depth of the canyon had been
repeatedly referred to as being a thousand feet, but there were places
where it was less than half that extent, and he remembered a depression
in the earth, almost directly overhead, which must have lessened the
prodigious height found at other points.
Nevertheless, a climb of several hundred feet up the perpendicular side
of a canyon or mountain wall is severe work to the most powerful and
best trained man, and its formidable nature was proved by the fact that
some of the cowmen would not try it by daylight.
Nothing could be clearer than that Motoza had not hesitated to leave his
prisoner alone in the cavern for the reason that he was certain he could
not effect his escape therefrom. The last means the youth would think of
employing was that of climbing the side; therefore, as Fred reasoned,
that was the very means to adopt, and the only one that could possibly
succeed.
"I'll try it!" was his conclusion, after a few minutes' thought.
Before setting out on the unparalleled task he fervently asked the help
of the only One who could extricate him from his peril. Then he summoned
his strength and courage to the tremendous work.
His dread now was that Motoza would put in an appearance before he was
clear of the mouth of the cavern. Had the lad thought of the daring
scheme earlier in the day he would have studied the stupendous stairs
upon which all his hopes now rested, but it was too late to think of
that.
Reaching upward, he grasped one of the projecting points of rock and
drew himself clear of the opening in front of the cavern. Naturally
muscular and active, with all his nerves in superb control, the effort
was trifling. Within less time than would be supposed he had climbed
fully fifty feet without meeting with any difficulty. Then the first
thrill of alarm shot through him as one foot slipped and he narrowly
missed falling.
He found a good place to rest, and immediately adopted a sensible
precaution. Removing both shoes, he tied the strings together and slung
them over his shoulder, with the fastening under his chin. This would
make it rough for his stockinged feet, but it was worth it all. He was
not discommoded by rifle or pistol, and could not have been better
prepared for climbing.
He felt as yet no fatigue, and resumed his work as soon as he was ready.
If he continued to find projections such as he had found thus far, there
was no reason why he should not reach the level ground above in safety.
As an evidence of how fate sometimes plays fast and loose with us, it is
certain that Hank Hazletine entered the cavern while his young friend
was climbing the wall overhead, without either dreaming of the actual
situation.
Fred Greenwood, at the beginning of his climb for liberty, was subjected
to a peculiar peril. He had rested but a moment, when he was seized with
an extraordinary "panicky" feeling. He was sure that Motoza was standing
on the ledge below, peering upward in the gloom, and holding his rifle
ready to fire at him on the instant he could make his aim certain.
Like all such emotions, it was opposed to common sense. According to his
belief it was out of the power of the Sioux to obtain the most shadowy
glimpse of him, and the youth ought to have felt as secure against being
picked off as if in his home, hundreds of miles away; but the feeling
for a time was uncontrollable, and, yielding to it, he began frantically
climbing, never abating his efforts until he had gone fully fifty feet
higher. By that time he was all a-tremble, and so weak that he was
forced to pause for rest. Thus far he had been extremely fortunate in
meeting with no difficulty, the projections affording abundant support
for hands and feet. Moreover, he had again attained a ledge where he was
able to sustain himself with comparative ease.
He paused, panting, trembling and exhausted. Thrusting out his head as
far as was safe, he looked downward. Nothing but impenetrable gloom met
his eye. He could hear the torrent rushing against the rocks and
boulders in its path, and flinging itself against the walls of the
canyon, but he could distinguish nothing, and his strong sense now came
to his rescue.
"If he is down there he cannot see me; he will not dream I have started
to climb the wall, and therefore will not follow. If he does, he must
appear below me, and I will kick him loose the minute I see him. How
foolish to be afraid!"
In a few minutes his nerves became calmer, but he began to realize the
nature of the terrifying task before him. There was no thought of
retreat on his part, and he was determined to keep on, so long as the
work was possible.
His feet were paining him, and were certain to pain him a good deal more
before he reached the top; but healthy, rugged youth has elastic
muscles, and in a short time Fred was ready to resume his work. His
panic was gone, and he exerted himself with the deliberate care which he
should have shown from the first.
As nearly as he could judge he had climbed some twenty paces, when he
was startled, upon extending his hand upward, to encounter only the
smooth face of the wall. Hitherto there had been more projections than
he required, but now the steps appeared to vanish, leaving him without
any support.
Could it be he would have to abandon his effort after making so fine a
start? Must he pick his way down the side of the canyon, again, to the
cavern, and there meekly resume the torture of waiting for death from
starvation? Failure was too terrible to be thought of, and he resumed
his searching for the indispensable support.
Certainly there was nothing directly above him that would serve, and he
passed his right hand to one side. Ah! he caught the sharp edge, after
groping for a few seconds. Leaning over, he reached out as far as
possible and found the projection extended indefinitely.
"It will do!" he muttered, with a thrill, and, without pausing to
reflect upon the fearful risk of the thing, he swung himself along,
sustained for an instant by his single hand; but the other was
immediately alongside of it, and it was easy to hold himself like a
pendulum swaying over the frightful abyss. But there was nothing upon
which to rest his feet. He did not wish anything, and, swinging
sideways, threw one leg over the ledge beside his hands, and,
half-rolling over, raised himself securely for the time on his perch.
"Gracious!" he exclaimed, pausing from the effort; "if I had stopped to
think, I shouldn't have dared to try it. If this ledge had been smaller
I shouldn't have found room for my body, and there is no way of getting
back to the stone on which I was standing. I _must_ go on now, for I
cannot go back."
It was plain sailing for a few minutes. The flinty excrescences were as
numerous as ever, and he never paused in his ascent until prudence
whispered that it was wise to take another breathing spell. It was a
source of infinite comfort to feel that when he thus checked himself he
was not compelled to do so for lack of support.
There was no way of determining how far he had climbed, and he based his
calculation on hope rather than knowledge. The roar of the canyon was
notably fainter, and, when he looked aloft, the ribbon of starlit sky
appeared nearer than at first. There could be no doubt that he was
making his ascent at the most favorable point, for the height was much
less than at most of the other places, and he believed this was the
portion where Hank Hazletine had climbed from the bottom to the top of
the gorge. Could he have been certain of the latter, all misgiving would
have vanished.
Not a trace of his panic remained. If Motoza had returned to the cavern,
and, discovering the flight of his prisoner, set out to follow him,
there was little prospect of his success, for the fugitive had varied
from a direct line, and the Sioux might pass within arm's length without
being aware of the fact.
There was one peril to which Fred was exposed, and it was fortunate it
never entered his mind. Supposing Motoza was standing on the ledge at
the bottom of the canyon and gazing upward, weapon in hand, it was quite
probable that he would be able to locate the youth. This would be not
because of any superiority of vision, but because of that patch of sky
beyond, acting as a background for the climber. With his inky figure
thrown in relief against the stars, his enemy could have picked him off
as readily as if the sun were shining.
This possibility, we say, did not present itself to Fred Greenwood, and,
more providential than all, Motoza was not in the canyon.
The slipping of one foot tore most of the sole from the stocking, and
his foot had henceforth no protection against the craggy surface.
"I don't mind the stocking," grimly reflected the youth, "for there is
another pair in camp and plenty of them at the ranch, but how it hurts!"
He would have been altogether lacking in the pluck he had displayed thus
far had he been deterred by physical suffering from pushing his efforts
to the utmost. He would have kept on through torture tenfold worse, and
he showed himself no mercy.
Few people who have not been called upon to undertake such a work can
form an idea of its exhausting nature. It would be hard to think of
anyone better prepared than Fred Greenwood to stand the terrific draught
upon his strength; but while a long way from the top, and while there
was no lack of supports for his hands and feet, and in the face of his
unshakable resolve, he was compelled to doubt his success. It seemed as
if the dizzy height did not diminish. When he had climbed for a long
time and stopped, panting and suffering, the stars appeared to be as far
away as ever. He felt as if he ought to have been out of the ravine long
before, but the opening looked to be as unattainable as at the
beginning.
His whole experience was remarkable to that extent that it can be
explained only on the ground that the intense mental strain prevented
his seeing things as they were. He had subjected his muscles to such a
tension that he was obliged to pause every few minutes and rest. One of
his feet was scarified and bleeding, and the other only a little better.
When he looked upward his heart sank, for a long distance still
interposed between him and the ground above.
"I must have picked the place where the canyon is deepest," was his
despairing conclusion; "I feel hardly able to hang on, and would not
dare do what I did further below."
He now yielded to a curious whim. Instead of continually gazing at the
sky, that he might measure the distance remaining to be traversed, he
resolved not to look at it at all until he had climbed a long way. He
hoped by doing this to discover such a marked decrease in the space that
it would reanimate him for the remaining work.
Accordingly he closed his eyes, and, depending on the sense of feeling
alone, which in truth was his reliance from the first, he toiled
steadily upward. Sometimes he had to grope with his hands for a minute
or two before daring to leave the support on which his feet rested, but
one of his causes for astonishment and thankfulness was that such aids
seemed never to be lacking.
He continued this blind progress until his wearied muscles refused to
obey further. He must rest or he would drop to the bottom from
exhaustion. He hooked his right arm over the point of a rock, sat upon a
favoring projection below, and decided to wait until his strength was
fully restored.
He could not resist the temptation to look up and learn how much yet
remained to do.
Could he believe his senses? He was within a dozen feet of the top!
He gasped with amazement, grew faint, and then was thrilled with hope.
He even broke into a cheer, for the knowledge was like nectar to the
traveller perishing of thirst in the desert--it was life itself.
All pain, all suffering, all fatigue were forgotten in the blissful
knowledge. He bent to his work with redoubled vigor. If the supports
continued, his stupendous task was virtually ended.
And they did continue. Not once did the eagerly-feeling hands fail to
grasp a projection of some form which could be made to serve his
purpose. Up, up he went, until the clear, cool air fanned his temples,
when, with a last effort, he drew himself from the canyon, and, plunging
forward on his face, fainted dead away.
He lay in a semi-conscious condition for nearly an hour. Then, when his
senses slowly returned, he raised himself to a sitting position and
looked around. It was too early for the moon, and the gloom prevented
his seeing more than a few paces in any direction.
But how the pain racked him! It seemed as if every bone was aching and
every muscle sore. The feet had been wholly worn from each stocking, and
his own feet were torn and bleeding. He had preserved his shoes, but
when he came to put them on he groaned with anguish. His feet were so
swollen that it was torture to cover them, and he could not tie the
strings; but they must be protected, and he did not rise until they were
thus armored.
He was without any weapons, but the torment of his wounds drove that
fact from his mind. All that he wanted now was to get away from the spot
where he could not help believing he was still in danger of recapture.
But when he stood erect and the agony shot through his frame, he asked
himself whether it was possible to travel to the plateau without help;
and yet the effort must be made.
He had a general knowledge of his situation, and, bracing himself for
the effort, he began the work. It was torture from the first, but after
taking a few steps his system partly accommodated itself to the
requirement and he progressed better than he anticipated. He was still
on the wrong side of the canyon, which it was necessary to leave before
rejoining his friends. He was wise enough to distrust his own capacity
after the fearful strain, and did not make the attempt until he found a
place where the width was hardly one-half of the extent leaped by him
and Jack Dudley. As it was, the jump, into which he put all his vigor,
landed him just clear of the edge, a fact which did much to lessen the
sharp suffering caused by alighting on his feet.
He yearned to sit down and rest, but was restrained by the certainty
that it would make his anguish more intense when he resumed his tramp
toward camp. Furthermore, as he believed himself nearing safety, his
impatience deepened and kept him at work when he should have ceased.
As he painfully trudged along, his thoughts reverted to his climb up the
side of the canyon and he shuddered; for, now that it was over, he could
not comprehend how he dared ever make the effort. Not for the world
would he repeat it, even by daylight.
"Heaven brought me safely through," was his grateful thought.
But as he drew near the plateau his musings turned thither. He had
counted upon finding Jack Dudley and the guide there; but they might be
miles away, and he would not see them for days. He knew he needed
attention from his friends and could not sustain himself much longer. If
he should be unable to find them----
But all these gloomy forebodings were scattered a few minutes later by
the glimmer of the camp-fire on the other side of the plateau. One of
his friends at least must be there, and providentially it proved that
both were present.