Part 41 (2/2)

”I am Stannard. Why do you want me?”

”When I can loose my belt I'll read you the warrant. The charge is killing game-warden Douglas.”

”Then Douglas is dead?” said Stannard in a quiet voice.

”He died four or five days since,” the sergeant replied.

”Ah!” said Stannard, and braced himself. ”Well, I have nothing to state.

I reserve my defense----”

”Stop him!” shouted the sergeant, and leaped across the snow.

Stannard stepped back, stumbled on the steep bank and vanished.

For a moment Jimmy, numbed by horror, wondered whether his imagination had cheated him. Then he saw Stannard was really gone and he ran for the ledge. The others joined him, but Stannard was not on the ledge. Two or three hundred feet below a dark object rolled down a long slab and at the bottom plunged into a gulf where the gray mist tossed.

”He's gone,” Deering remarked to the sergeant. ”Perhaps you'll find him when the snow melts.”

They went back to the spot where they had left their packs and ropes.

For a time all were quiet, and then the sergeant said to Deering: ”He beat me, but I don't get it yet. I didn't reckon on his going over; he stated he reserved his defense.”

”Perhaps he was rash,” Deering remarked in a thoughtful voice. ”In the meantime, however, we must let it go and think about getting down to the bush. How did you find us?”

”We went for a neck behind Mr. Leyland's shack. When we saw no tracks we pushed along the main range. We reckoned you'd gone by the long ridge and we might cut your trail. We were three nights in the rocks and are all played out.”

”Then you had better join us. We are going to try Stannard's line down the gully. I don't engage to make the woods, but I don't see another plan.”

The sergeant hesitated. ”Stannard hit the line?”

”He declared the line would go,” said Deering quietly. ”Perhaps you have not much grounds to trust him, but he was a great mountaineer.”

Jimmy turned and threw Deering the end of the rope.

”Don't talk!” he said to the sergeant. ”If you mean to join us, tie on.

We must start.”

A few minutes afterwards, they crossed the shelf. Deering led, and Jimmy, going first on the second rope, rather doubted if they would reach the trees. In summer the long straight crack was obviously the mountain's rubbish shoot and its sides were ground smooth by rolling stones; now it was packed by hard, firm snow. To slip would mean a savage _glissade_, and then perhaps a plunge----

Much depended on the leader's nerve. Reaching down, held by the rope, he must chip out holes; and then, when the man behind him occupied the notches, move a foot or two and cut another. Sometimes Deering used his boots and sometimes the ice-pick; but, for the most part, when his party had gone across, the holes were broken and Jimmy was forced to cut. The labor was exhausting and by and by Deering owned he had had enough. The trouble was to help him back and put another in his place, but Gillane got into the loop and brought them down some distance. Then he stopped and for a few minutes all lay in the snow. Mist hid the bottom of the gully and none dared hope their labor would be lightened much when they got there. For all they knew they were painfully crawling down to the top of a precipice. In fact n.o.body was willing to brace up for the effort to change the leaders.

After a time Jimmy turned his head. The mist was lifting. It went up in torn shreds and the bottom of the gully began to get distinct. Where the dark trough ran out from the rocks a smooth snow-field went down. The vapor steadily rolled off the slope, until Jimmy saw a vague, dark belt he thought was timber. His heart beat and he got back his pluck.

”Stannard hit the proper line,” he said. ”We'll pitch camp in the woods.”

Dillon took Gillane's post, the sergeant took Jimmy's, and they pushed on. By and by the mist rolled down and hid the pitches below, but, now all knew where they went, the gloom vanished and slack muscles were braced. For all that, when they reached the snow-field Deering looked to the west and frowned.

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