"He declared the line would go," said Deering quietly. "Perhaps you have
not much grounds to trust him, but he was a great mountaineer."
Jimmy turned and threw Deering the end of the rope.
"Don't talk!" he said to the sergeant. "If you mean to join us, tie on.
We must start."
A few minutes afterwards, they crossed the shelf. Deering led, and
Jimmy, going first on the second rope, rather doubted if they would
reach the trees. In summer the long straight crack was obviously the
mountain's rubbish shoot and its sides were ground smooth by rolling
stones; now it was packed by hard, firm snow. To slip would mean a
savage _glissade_, and then perhaps a plunge----
Much depended on the leader's nerve. Reaching down, held by the rope, he
must chip out holes; and then, when the man behind him occupied the
notches, move a foot or two and cut another. Sometimes Deering used his
boots and sometimes the ice-pick; but, for the most part, when his party
had gone across, the holes were broken and Jimmy was forced to cut. The
labor was exhausting and by and by Deering owned he had had enough. The
trouble was to help him back and put another in his place, but Gillane
got into the loop and brought them down some distance. Then he stopped
and for a few minutes all lay in the snow. Mist hid the bottom of the
gully and none dared hope their labor would be lightened much when they
got there. For all they knew they were painfully crawling down to the
top of a precipice. In fact nobody was willing to brace up for the
effort to change the leaders.
After a time Jimmy turned his head. The mist was lifting. It went up in
torn shreds and the bottom of the gully began to get distinct. Where the
dark trough ran out from the rocks a smooth snow-field went down. The
vapor steadily rolled off the slope, until Jimmy saw a vague, dark belt
he thought was timber. His heart beat and he got back his pluck.
"Stannard hit the proper line," he said. "We'll pitch camp in the
woods."
Dillon took Gillane's post, the sergeant took Jimmy's, and they pushed
on. By and by the mist rolled down and hid the pitches below, but, now
all knew where they went, the gloom vanished and slack muscles were
braced. For all that, when they reached the snow-field Deering looked
to the west and frowned.
"The light's going and the trees are a long way off," he said. "Mush
along, boys. You have got to get there!"
In places the snow was loose and to get forward was hard. Jimmy pushed
Stevens for some distance and they were forced to stop for a young
police trooper. On some pitches the snow was hard and slippery, and
rocks with icy tops broke the surface. Dark crept up from the valley and
the trees were behind the ground in front. Yet from the daunting gully
they had looked down across the vast white slope and the picture that
melted like the mist led them on. Ahead were rest and food and warmth.
At length, two or three hours after dark, Dillon stumbled and rolled in
the snow.
"Watch out for the juniper I ran up against," he shouted. "Keep going!
This trail's for the woods!"
Half an hour afterwards Jimmy threw off his pack and leaned against a
spruce. The ground was steep and stony, but rows of small trunks cut the
glimmering snow. All round was fuel and one could build a shelter and
eat hot food. He thrilled and the blood came to his frozen skin. They
had run daunting risks and borne all flesh and blood could bear, but the
strain was done with. They had made it!