Roy Blakeley's Bee-line Hike Part 22

If it hadn't been for that slanting ledge a little below us we could have looked down and seen just how steep the hill was. It would be bad enough to have to turn back, anyway, that's what I thought. But to turn back without really _knowing for sure_ that we couldn't possibly go any further, gee whiz, that didn't seem like scouts. We were all feeling pretty disappointed because we knew that the chances were against us.

"We'll either do it or _know that we can't_, that's our motto," Hunt said.

"And if we can't, that will mean no one can," I said.

"That's us," Dorry shouted.

"Give me a hand down," Warde said.

"A scout in khaki ought to do that," I said. "We ought not to let a new fellow risk----"

"You're so strong on good turns," Warde said. "Aren't you willing to give a fellow a chance to _win_ the khaki? Here, grab hold of my hand.

I'm not going to walk off the ledge. Do you think I'm blind?"

"Well, anyway, be careful," I said. I felt kind of shaky, I couldn't help it. Because below that ledge there must have been a hundred feet and for all we knew it was straight up and down.

I got a good firm foothold by bracing my feet behind a rock. "Stand back," I said to the other fellows. Then I held Warde's hand while he climbed down onto the ledge. I couldn't keep hold of his hand till he got all the way down, but he braced his feet on the side of the rock that made a kind of wall up from the ledge.

The ledge was all rock and it was slanting so no one could stand on it without taking a chance. Between the cracks in the rock were small bushes growing.

I said, "Get down on your hands and knees, quick. Don't try to stand there."

Now that he was down there on the ledge I saw how risky it was. Before there was any one down there it didn't seem so very dangerous, but as soon as I saw a person on it then I was sorry I had let him do it. I didn't see how he was going to look over the edge because he'd have to keep his hands toward the wall to hang on. He'd be taking an awful chance if he faced the other way.

"It's pretty slanting, hey?" Westy said.

I said, "Don't trust to it, hang onto the bushes."

"I'm all right," Warde said.

"No, you're not either," Hunt told him; "we can see how it is from up here better than you can. Do you slip? Look out!"

"I'm all right," Warde said.

"Only don't get reckless," I said. "What's the use of taking chances?

I'm sorry you went down. If you can stand up maybe I can reach you."

"What do you mean, _reach me_?" he said. "What do you suppose I came down here for?"

"You're pretty game," Westy said, "but look out."

By that time Warde was on his hands and knees. He was keeping hold of the stuff that grew through the cracks and letting himself out toward the edge of the shelf. We all stood at the top watching him and we were pretty anxious.

I said, "Don't turn around, go backward."

"How am I going to see anything that way?" he called. "Whoa--a----" he said, and just then he let go one little clump of bush and grabbed another. It gave me the shudders.

"That was coming up," he said.

I called to him, "Warde, don't try to turn around on that ledge. Crawl back and see if you can stand up enough so I can get hold of your hand.

We'll call the whole thing off."

He didn't pay any attention to me, but moved around so his head was toward the edge. About three feet more and he would be able to look over. It gave me the shivers just to watch him.

Will Dawson said, "It's too late, he couldn't get back up here now."

I knew that was so--that he wouldn't be able to get within reach of our hands. If it turned out that he couldn't go all the way down I didn't know what would happen.

He was clutching little clumps of bush with his hands and sort of holding himself back that way. All of a sudden he slid forward and only stopped himself by pressing a little patch of bush between his knees. I could see he was holding his knees together with all his strength. Even still he slipped a little. I guess by that time he realized himself the danger he was in, but he didn't say anything.

Westy flung off his coat and threw it down, keeping hold of one sleeve.

He called, "Here, grab hold of that with one hand if you can."

"I can't let go," Warde called.

His back was toward us so he couldn't see the jacket, but the rest of us saw that it wasn't within his reach. When Westy threw it, it went maybe within two feet of Warde's hand and then fell dangling against the cliff.

"Let's tie two jackets together by the sleeves," Hunt said.

"He wouldn't dare let go to catch hold of it," I told him. "Can't you see he's hanging on with both hands and feet now? He can't afford to take any more chances; it's bad enough already."

"_Watch your step, don't move_," Westy called down. "If you've got a firm hold hang on; don't try to look over. Give us a chance to think."

Warde called, "Wait till I see how it is below and maybe you won't have to bother to think. Maybe I can go down all right."

"That fellow's game," Westy said.

"Safety first," I called. "You're in a pretty bad place, Warde. You can see better how it is up here. You hang on with both hands and feet and give us a chance to think. Don't get excited. We don't care anything about the hike now."

"All right, go on home," he called. "I'm going to see whether we can climb down here or not."

"He'll make a scout," Dorry said.

"If he lives to take the oath," Westy said.

All of a sudden Warde moved. I don't know whether he slid or moved on purpose. Anyway there was a little clump of bush in his hand. He threw it away and clutched the ground in another place. That brought his head to the edge of the shelf. Jiminies, my heart was just pounding in my throat. The palms of my hands were all wet, even. None of us spoke. One more move and he'd be over the edge. I wanted to call and ask him how it was below, but I sort of felt that even my voice might start him moving again. He was way out of reach of us now, right on the very edge, and we knew that his life depended on how the land was below him. Because one thing sure, he couldn't come back.

Just then he slipped ever so little and I could see his knees and feet pressing the weeds between them tight, just as if his legs were a vice.

I just couldn't call and ask him how the land was down there.

Pretty soon he spoke. His voice sounded just the same as usual even though it was a kind of death sentence he was saying.

"It's straight up and down," he said.

"How far?" I called. My own voice sounded strange to me.

"'Bout seventy or eighty feet," he said; "maybe a hundred. I can't tell exactly."

Then he seemed to move again but maybe I only thought so because I was so excited.