The going was hard. It called for endurance and muscle, as well
as for a steady head and a sure foot. He looked down at the girl wedged
between the slopes of the granite trough.
She read his thought. "The old guard never surrenders, sir," was her
quick answer as she brushed in salute with the tips of her fingers a
stray lock of hair.
The trough was worse than Elliot had expected. It had in it a good deal
of loose rubble that started in small slides at the least pressure.
"Be very careful of your footing," he called back anxiously.
A small grassy platform lay above the upper end of the trough, but the
last dozen feet of the approach was a very difficult bit. Gordon took
advantage of every least projection. He fought his way up with his back
against one wall and his knees pressed to the other. Three feet short of
the platform the rock walls became absolutely smooth. The climber could
reach within a foot of the top.
"Are you stopped?" asked Sheba.
"Looks that way."
A small pine projected from the edge of the shelf out over the
precipice. It might be strong enough to bear his weight. It might not.
Gordon unbuckled his belt and threw one end over the trunk of the dwarf
tree.
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