ft one hand, and go on pounding firm another shallow
step. When he reached the alder-bush his heart gave a great leap of
triumph. Then, for the first time since starting, he looked up. His
heart fell down. It seemed farther than ever, and the light waning.

But the twilight would be long, he told himself, and in that other,
beneficent inner twilight he worked on, packing the snow, and crawling
gingerly up the perilous stair a half-inch at a time.

At last he was on the jutting rock, and could stand secure. But here he
could see that the top of the bluff really did shelve over. To think so
is so common an illusion to the climber that the Boy had heartened
himself by saying, when he got there he would find it like the rest,
horribly steep, but not impossible. Well, it _was_ impossible. After
all his labour, he was no better off on the rock than in the snow-hole
below the alder, down there where he dared not look. The sun and his
dogs had travelled down, down. They touched the horizon while he sat
there; they slipped below the world's wide rim. He said in his heart,
"I'm freezing to death." Unexpectedly to himself his despair found
voice:

"Colonel!"

"Hello!"

He started violently.

Had he really heard that, or was imagination playing tricks with echo?

"Colonel!"

"Where the devil----"

A man's head appeared out of the sky.

"Got the rope?"

Words indistinguishable floated down--the head withdrawn--silence. The
Boy waited a very long time, but he stamped his feet, and kept his
blood in motion. The light was very grey when the head showed again at
the sky-line. He couldn't hear what was shouted down, and it occurred
to him, even in his huge predicament, that the Colonel was "giving him
hot air" as usual, instead of a life-line. Down the rope came, nearer,
and stopped about fifteen feet over his head.

"Got the axe? Let her down."

* * * * *

The night was bright with moonlight when the Boy stood again on the top
of the bluff.

"Humph!" says the Colonel, with agreeable anticipation; "you'll be glad
to camp for a few days after this, I reckon."

"Reckon I won't."

* * * * *

In their colossal fatigue they slept the clock round; their watches run
down, their sense of the very date blurred. Since the Colonel had made
the last laconic entry in the journal--was it three days or two--or
twenty?

In spite of a sensation as of many broken bo