A Dog with a Bad Name Part 39

The ledge on which they sat was narrow and slanting, and the wind, shifting gradually to the west, began to get round them menacingly, and cause them now and then to grip at the stones while some specially furious gust blew past. Add to that, Percy's arm was probably broken, and, despite a makeshift bandage and sling, adjusted at imminent peril of being swept away in the operation, increasingly painful. The mist wrapped them like a winding-sheet, and froze as it fell.

"How long will Julius take getting down?" asked the boy.

"Not long," said Jeffreys, with a shudder, not wholly caused by the cold.

"An hour? He could bring them up in three hours, couldn't he?"

"Less, perhaps. We can hold out for three hours."

"Jeff, old fellow, do go; what _is_ the use of you staying?"

"Harder work for the wind to lift two of us than one. It can't last long, I'm certain; it's chopping already."

They relapsed into silence, and listened to the storm as it dashed on the cliffs above them.

A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. Then Jeffreys felt the boy's head drop on his shoulder.

"Percy, old man, no sleeping," said he, raising his head.

"I'm not sleeping; only wondering where Julius is."

But his voice was drowsy, and the words drawled out slowly and dreamily.

"Perhaps he's down the lower zigzag now," said Jeffreys, giving his companion a shake, under pretext of readjusting the wraps.

"I guess he'll go to Raby first," said Percy. "Won't she be scared?"

"She will probably go to your father, and he'll get Appleby and Kennedy and some of the men, and they'll--Percy! hold up your head!"

"Scarfe would like to get engaged to Raby, but she would sooner--"

"Percy, old man, you're talking rubbish. Unless you sit up and keep awake we shall both come to grief."

"I'll try," said the boy, "but I don't know how."

"Tell me something about your year at Rugby. I want to hear about it so much. What form were you in?"

Then followed a desperate half-hour of cross-examination, Jeffreys coming down with a question at the slightest symptom of drowsiness, and Percy, with all the cunning of a "somno-maniac," taking time to think before each answer, and even shirking a syllable here or there in order to s.n.a.t.c.h a wink.

The daylight slowly faded out of the mist, but still the wind howled and shook them on their narrow perch at every gust. Jeffreys, with dismay, found his limbs growing cramped and stiff, boding ill, unless relief soon came, for the possibility of moving at all.

Surely, though, the wind was abating. The dash overhead sounded a trifle less deafening; and the driving sleet, which an hour ago had struck on their faces, now froze their ears.

Yes, the wind was shifting and falling.

In the half-minute which it took Jeffreys to make this discovery Percy had once more fallen asleep, and it required a shake more prolonged than ever to arouse him.

"What!" said he, as he slowly raised his head, "are they here? Is father there?"

"No, old boy, but the wind is going down, and we may be able to move soon. Where did you field in that cricket match you were telling me of?"

"Short leg, and I made two catches."

"Bravo! Were they hard ones? Tell me."

So for another half-hour this struggle with sleep went on. Jeffreys had more to do than keep his companion awake. He accompanied every question with a change of position of his knees and arms, that he might be able when the time came to use his limbs. It was little enough scope he had for any movement on that narrow ledge, but he lost no chance, and his self-imposed fidgets helped not only himself but Percy.

At last the roar on the cliffs changed into a surly soughing, and the gusts edged slowly but surely round behind the great b.u.t.tress of the mountain.

"Percy," said Jeffreys, "we must try a move. Can you hold yourself steady while I try to get up?"

Percy was wide awake in an instant.

"I can hold on, but my other arm is no good for scrambling."

"I'll see to that, only hold on while I get up."

It was a long and painful operation; every joint and muscle seemed to be congealed. At length, however, by dint of a terrible effort, he managed to draw up his feet and even to stand on the path. He kicked up the earth so as to make a firm foothold, and then addressed himself to the still more difficult task of raising the stiff and crippled Percy.

How he did it, and how he half dragged, half carried him back along the ledge to the firmer ground of the upper zigzag path, he never knew. He always counted it as one of the miracles of his life, the work of that stronger than human arm which had already helped him along his path, and which in this act showed that it still was with him. To stand even on that steep mountain path was, after the peril of that fearful ledge, like standing on a broad paved road.

"Where next?" said Percy.

"Over the top and down by the Sharpenholme track. Do you see the moon is coming out through the mist?"

"All serene!"

The heroism of that night's adventure was not all absorbed by the elder traveller. The boy who with indomitable hopefulness toiled up that steep ascent with a broken arm bandaged to his side, making nothing of his pain, was a type of English boy happily still to be met with, giving promise of men of the right stuff yet to come to maintain the good name of their country.

They were not much in the humour for admiring the wonderful beauty of the scene as the mist gradually cleared and above them rose the full white moon flooding the mountain and the hills beyond with its pure light. They welcomed the light, for it showed them the way; but they would have sold the view twenty times over for a pot of hot coffee.

At the top they met the tail end of the gale spending its little remaining force on the mountain's back. It seemed like a balmy zephyr compared with the tempest of a few hours ago.

The descent down the broad gra.s.s track with its slight covering of snow towards Sharpenholme had little difficulty; but the jolting tried Percy's arm as the steep climb with all its exertion had not done.

Jeffreys noticed the boy's steps become more unsteady, and felt him lean with increasing heaviness on his arm.

"Percy, old boy, you are done up."

"No--I--Suppose we rest a minute or two; I shall be all right."

But while he spoke he staggered faintly and would have fallen but for Jeffreys' arm in his.

"I think if you went on," said he, "I could rest a bit and follow slowly."

Jeffreys' answer was curt and decisive.

He took the boy up in his arms as if he had been a baby, and, despite all protestations, carried him.