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The Yukon Trail, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 5. Across The Traverse |
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_ CHAPTER V. ACROSS THE TRAVERSE Elliot took off his shoes and turned toward the traverse. "Think I'll see if I can cross to that stairway. You had better wait here, Miss O'Neill, until we find out if it can be done." His manner was casual, his voice studiously light. Sheba looked across the cliff and down to the boulder bed two hundred feet below. "You can never do it in the world. Isn't there another way up?" "No. The wall above us slopes out. I've got to cross to the stairway. If I make it I'm going to get a rope." "Do you mean you're going back to town for one?" "Yes." Her eyes fastened to his in a long, unspoken question. She read the answer. He was afraid to have her try the trough again. To get back to town by way of their roundabout ascent would waste time. If he was going to rescue her before night, he must take the shortest cut, and that was across the face of the sheer cliff. For the first time she understood how serious was their plight. "We can go back together by the trough, can't we?" But even as she asked, her heart sank at the thought of facing again that dizzy height. The moment of horror when she had thought herself lost had shaken her nerve. "It would be difficult." The glance of the girl swept again the face of the wall he must cross. It could not be done without a rope. Her fear-filled eyes came back to his. "It's my fault. I made you come," she said in a low voice. "Nonsense," he answered cheerfully. "There's no harm done. If I can't reach the stairway I can come back and go down by the trough." Sheba assented doubtfully. It had come on to drizzle again. The rain was fine and cold, almost a mist, and already it was forming a film of ice on the rocks. "I can't take time to go back by the trough. The point is that I don't want you camped up here after night. There has been no sun on this side of the spur and in the chill of the evening it must get cold even in summer." He was making his preparations as he talked. His coat he took off and threw down. His shoes he tied by the laces to his belt. "I'll try not to be very long," he promised. "It's God's will then, so it is," she sighed, relapsing into the vernacular. Her voice was low and not very steady, for the heart of the girl was heavy. She knew she must not protest his decision. That was not the way to play the game. But somehow the salt had gone from their light-hearted adventure. She had become panicky from the moment when her feet had started the rubble in the trough and gone flying into the air. The gayety that had been the note of their tramp had given place to fears. Elliot took her little hand in a warm, strong grip. "You're not going to be afraid. We'll work out all right, you know." "Yes." "It's not just the thing to leave a lady in the rain when you take her for a walk, but it can't be helped. We'll laugh about it to-morrow." Would they? she wondered, answering his smile faintly. Her courage was sapped. She wanted to cry out that he must not try the traverse, but she set her will not to make it harder for him. He turned to the climb. "You've forgotten your coat," she reminded. "I'm traveling light this trip. You'd better slip it on before you get chilled." Sheba knew he had left it on purpose for her. Her fascinated eyes followed him while he moved out from the plateau across the face of the precipice. His hand had found a knob of projecting feldspar and he was feeling with his right foot for a hold in some moss that grew in a crevice. He had none of the tools for climbing--no rope, no hatchet, none of the support of numbers. All the allies he could summon were his bare hands and feet, his resilient muscles, and his stout heart. To make it worse, the ice film from the rain coated every jutting inch of quartz with danger. But he worked steadily forward, moving with the infinite caution of one who knows that there will be no chance to remedy later any mistake. A slight error in judgment, the failure in response of any one of fifty muscles, would send him plunging down. Occasionally he spoke to Sheba, but she volunteered no remarks. It was her part to wait and watch while he concentrated every faculty upon his task. He had come to an impasse after crossing a dozen feet of the wall and was working up to get around a slab of granite which protruded, a convex barrier, from the surface of the cliff. It struck the girl that from a distance he must look like a fly on a pane of glass. Even to her, close as she was, that smooth rock surface looked impossible. Her eye left him for an instant to sweep the gulf below. She gave a little cry, ran to his coat, and began to wave it. For the first time since Elliot had begun the traverse she took the initiative in speech. "I see some people away over to the left, Mr. Elliot. I'm going to call to them." Her voice throbbed with hope. But it was not her shouts or his, which would not have carried one tenth the distance, that reached the group in the valley. One of them caught a glimpse of the wildly waving coat. There was a consultation and two or three fluttered handkerchiefs in response. Presently they moved on. Sheba could not believe her eyes. "They're not leaving us surely?" she gasped. "That's what they're doing," answered Gordon grimly. "They think we're calling to them out of vanity to show them where we climbed." "Oh!" She strangled a sob in her throat. Her heart was weighted as with lead. "I'm going to make it. I think I see my way from here," her companion called across to her. "A fault runs to the foot of the stairway, if I can only do the next yard or two." He did them, by throwing caution to the winds. An icy, rounded boulder projected above him out of reach. He unfastened his belt again and put the shoes, tied by the laces, around his neck. There was one way to get across to the ledge of the fault. He took hold of the two ends of the belt, crouched, and leaned forward on tiptoes toward the knob. The loop of the belt slid over the ice-coated boss. There was no chance to draw back now, to test the hold he had gained. If the leather slipped he was lost. His body swung across the abyss and his feet landed on the little ledge beyond. His shout of success came perhaps ten minutes later. "I've reached the stairway, Miss O'Neill. I'll try not to be long, but you'd better exercise to keep up the circulation. Don't worry, please. I'll be back before night." "I'm so glad," she cried joyfully. "I was afraid for you. And I'll not worry a bit. Good-bye." Elliot made his way up to the summit and ran along a footpath which brought him to a bridge across the mountain stream just above the falls. The trail zigzagged down the turbulent little river close to the bank. Before he had specialized on the short distances Gordon had been a cross-country runner. He was in fair condition and he covered the ground fast. About a mile below the falls he met two men. One of them was Colby Macdonald. He carried a coil of rope over one shoulder. The big Alaskan explained that he had not been able to get it out of his head that perhaps the climbers who had waved at his party had been in difficulties. So he had got a rope from the cabin of an old miner and was on his way back to the falls. The three climbed to the falls, crossed the bridge, and reached the top of the cliff. "You know the lay of the land down there, Mr. Elliot. We'll lower you," decided Macdonald, who took command as a matter of course. Gordon presently stood beside Sheba on the little plateau. She had quite recovered from the touch of hysteria that had attacked her courage. The wind and the rain had whipped the color into her soft cheeks, had disarranged a little the crinkly, blue-black hair, wet tendrils of which nestled against her temples. The health and buoyancy of the girl were in the live eyes that met his eagerly. "You weren't long," was all she said. "I met them coming," he answered as he dropped the loop of the rope over her head and arranged it under her shoulders. He showed her how to relieve part of the strain of the rope on her flesh by using her hands to lift. "All ready?" Macdonald called from above. "All ready," Elliot answered. To Sheba he said, "Hold tight." The girl was swung from the ledge and rose jerkily in the air. She laughed gayly down at her friend below. "It's fun." Gordon followed her a couple of minutes later. She was waiting to give him a hand over the edge of the cliff. "Miss O'Neill, this is Mr. Macdonald," he said, as soon as he had freed himself from the rope. "You are fellow passengers on the Hannah." Macdonald was looking at her straight and hard. "Your father's name--was it Farrell O'Neill?" he asked bluntly. "Yes." "I knew him." The girl's eyes lit. "I'm glad, Mr. Macdonald. That's one reason I wanted to come to Alaska--to hear about my father's life here. Will you tell me?" "Sometime. We must be going now to catch the boat--after I've had a look at the cliff this young man crawled across." He turned away, abruptly it struck Elliot, and climbed down the natural stairway up which the young man had come. Presently he rejoined those above. Macdonald looked at Elliot with a new respect. "You're in luck, my friend, that we're not carrying you from the foot of the cliff," he said dryly. "I wouldn't cross that rock wall for a hundred thousand dollars in cold cash." "Nor I again," admitted Gordon with a laugh. "But we had either to homestead that plateau or vacate it. I preferred the latter." Miss O'Neill's deep eyes looked at him. She was about to speak, then changed her mind. _ |
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