A Dog with a Bad Name Part 38

"And it will take us as long to come down as to go up to-day," said Jeffreys, "so we ought not to lose much time."

Off they started again after a hurried but highly appreciated meal, in which the dog took only a very moderate share. The remaining portion of the ascent was simple enough. The zigzag onto the top shoulder was if anything less steep than the lower one, and the path, being rougher underfoot, was less treacherous.

The scramble over the loose rocks at the top onto the cairn was not altogether plain sailing. In summer it was easy enough, but now, with the surface of the great boulders as slippery as gla.s.s, it was hardly to be traversed except on the hands and knees.

Poor Julius floundered about pitifully, unable to keep his feet, and disappearing bodily now and then among the interstices of the rocky way.

Even Percy and Jeffreys stumbled once or twice awkwardly, and reached the summit with bruised limbs. But _finis coronat opus_, especially on a mountain.

As they sprang up the cairn a view unequalled in grandeur broke upon them. The frosty air was without haze in any quarter. The Scotch hills beyond the border and the broad heaving sea lay apparently equally within reach, and on the farthest western horizon even the fairy-like outline of the distant Irish hills, never visible except in the clearest winter weather, shone out distinctly.

"Isn't it scrumptious?" exclaimed Percy, as he flung himself breathless onto the cairn. "If we had waited a year we couldn't have picked out such a day. Why, that must be Snowdon we see over there, and the high ground out at sea, Holyhead?"

Thus they went on, delightedly recognising the landmarks north, south, east, and west, and forgetting both the hour and the rising breeze.

"Why, it's two o'clock!" cried Percy presently, looking at his watch, and s.h.i.+vering at the same time.

"Put on your coat," said Jeffreys; "the wind's getting up a bit, and we shall have it in our faces going down."

As they started to descend they became aware of a sudden change in the hitherto cloudless day. The western horizon, which had just now been unfolding its distant beauties, seemed lost in a fine haze, which spread north and south, blotting out one after another the glories of landscape on which they had scarcely ceased to feast their eyes.

"There's a mist out there," said Percy, as they scrambled down the boulders; "I hope to goodness it will keep away from us."

"The wind is a little north-west; it may drive it south of us, but it is spreading at a great rate."

"Never mind; it will be rather a joke if it comes. I could find the way down with my eyes shut, and I've often wanted to be in a regular fog up here," said Percy.

"I don't know what you feel," responded Jeffreys; "but I'm rather glad we brought our coats. Isn't it cold?"

The wind which met them seemed charged with cold, and after a while began to scatter a feathery sleet in their faces.

Percy whistled.

"We didn't bargain for that, I say," said he. "I hope it shuts up before we cross over the ledge down there."

Julius howled dismally. He, too, guessed what this blinding shower-bath foreboded, and stumbled along, miserable and s.h.i.+vering.

The higher zigzag, which had seemed easy enough two hours ago, tried them sorely now. The sleet half blinded them, and the fresh moisture, freezing as it fell, caused them to slip and slide at every step. Still they got down it somehow, and turned to face the narrow track along the cliff. Percy, much as he repined at the change in the elements, felt no doubt as to the possibility of getting over.

"We may have to crawl a bit of the way if this sort of thing goes on,"

said he, "but it's straight enough sailing."

"Would it be better," suggested Jeffreys, "to go to the top again and get down by the Sharpenholme track?"

"We shouldn't get home till midnight if we did; besides, I don't know the way. We're all right this way if we look sharp."

The wind had now increased to a tempest, and beat against the side of the great cliff with a sound like the sea breaking on an iron-bound sh.o.r.e. They could scarcely hear one another speak; and poor Julius's whines were drowned in the great clamour.

"Do you mind my going first?" said Percy; "I know the path better than you."

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.