t all. The gravel was rattling past me and piling up against my head.
The jar of a little rock, and all would be over. The situation was too
desperate for actual fear. Dull wonder as to how long I would be in the
air, and the hope that death would be instant--that was all. Then came
the wish that Muir would come before I fell, and take a message to my
wife.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE MARVELOUS ARRAY OF LAKES]

Suddenly I heard his voice right above me. "My God!" he cried. Then he
added, "Grab that rock, man, just by your right hand."

I gurgled from my throat, not daring to inflate my lungs, "My arms are
out."

There was a pause. Then his voice rang again, cheery, confident,
unexcited, "Hold fast; I'm going to get you out of this. I can't get to
you on this side; the rock is sheer. I'll have to leave you now and
cross the rift high up and come down to you on the other side by which
we came. Keep cool."

Then I heard him going away, whistling "The Blue Bells of Scotland,"
singing snatches of Scotch songs, calling to me, his voice now receding,
as the rocks intervened, then sounding louder as he came out on the face
of the cliff. But in me hope surged at full tide. I entertained no more
thoughts of last messages. I did not see how he could possibly do it,
but he was John Muir, and I had seen his wonderful rock-work. So I
determined not to fall and made myself as flat and heavy as possible,
not daring to twitch a muscle or wink an eyelid, for I still felt myself
slipping, slipping down the greasy slate. And now a new peril
threatened. A chill ran through me of cold and nervousness, and I slid
an inch. I suppressed the growing shivers with all my will. I would keep
perfectly quiet till Muir came back. The sickening pain in my shoulders
increased till it was torture, and I could not ease it.

It seemed like hours, but it was really only about ten minutes before he
got back to me. By that time I hung so far over the edge of the
precipice that it seemed impossible that I could last another second.
Now I heard Muir's voice, low and steady, close to me, and it seemed a
little below.

"Hold steady," he said. "I'll have to swing you out over the cliff."

Then I felt a careful hand on my back, fumbling with the waistband of my
pants, my vest and shirt, gathering all in a firm grip. I could see only
with one eye and that looked upon but a foot or two of gravel on the
other side.

"Now!" he said, and I slid out of the clef