Part 6 (2/2)

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 a.s.sented 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 G.o.d'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.”

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