Part 38 (2/2)

Jeffreys nodded, and they started. The first step they took on that ledge threatened for a moment to be their last. The wind, gathering fury every moment, beat Percy to his knees, and nearly sent Jeffreys staggering over the ledge.

”We shall have to crawl,” said Percy. ”It's no use waiting. The wind and sleet are going to make a night of it, and we shall gain nothing by waiting.”

The start was begun again--this time cautiously and on all-fours. Even so the wind seemed once or twice as if it would sweep them from the ledge. Yard by yard they crawled on. The driving mist fell like a pall over the mountain, and in a few minutes they could not even see a yard in front of them. Had the wind blown crosswise, or in any other way than that in which it came, they would have been swept off before twenty yards were accomplished. As it was, they were almost pinned to the cliff by the fury of the blast.

They must have proceeded a quarter of the way across, and had reached a spot where the ledge rose slightly. Even up this slight incline, with the mist freezing under them, it was impossible to crawl; and Percy, drawing himself cautiously to his feet, attempted to stand.

As he did so, the wind, gathering itself into a furious blast, caught him and hurled him against the rocky wall. He recoiled with a sharp cry of pain, and next moment would have fallen into the abyss beneath, had not Jeffreys' strong arm caught him and held him. His legs were actually off the ledge, and for a moment it seemed as if both he and his protector were doomed. But with a tremendous effort the prostrate Jeffreys swung him back onto the track.

”Are you hurt?” he called.

”My arm,” said Percy. ”I'm afraid I can't get on. I'll try.”

But the attempt only called up a fresh exclamation of pain.

”We must wait,” said Jeffreys. ”Try to sit up, old fellow. I'll help you.”

It was evident that the boy's arm, if not broken, was so severely damaged as to render it powerless.

”I could stay here, I think,” said he, ”if you went on, Jeff.”

”Nonsense!” said Jeffreys; ”we'll send Julius to fetch help. Here, Julius, good dog,” said he, patting the dog's head and pointing down to the valley, ”go and fetch them here. Fetch Appleby, and Walker, and Mr Rimbolt. Go along, good fellow.”

The dog, who had been crawling behind them, looked wistfully at his master and licked the hand that caressed him. Then, stepping carefully across them as they sat with their backs to the rock and their feet beyond the edge of the path, he departed.

He was out of sight almost a yard away, but they heard him whine once as the wind dashed him against the cliff.

”Julius, good dog, fetch them!” shouted Jeffreys into the mist.

A faint answering bark came back.

Next moment, through the storm, came a wild howl, and they heard him no more.

Jeffreys guessed only too well what that howl meant; but he never stirred, as with his arm round Percy, and his cloak screening him from the wind, he looked hopelessly out into the night and waited.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

SCARFE PROMISES TO REMEMBER.

”Jeff,” said Percy, after a minute or two, ”it's nonsense your staying here to get frozen; do go on.”

”No, old fellow; I prefer your company to my own.”

”But, Jeff, we may not last out till the morning.”

”We won't give it up yet, though.” Jeffreys had great faith in the caloric of hope, especially for a boy of Percy's temperament. For himself he saw enough to guess that their position was a desperate one.

<script>