Next came Pressford's third effort, the toughest of all. This done, there would be nothing beyond to fear.
Slowly, quietly, with never a hurried movement, he worked his way up the gully, inch by inch ascending, till he had gained a level of nearly one hundred feet above their starting-point, where Doris stood, statue-like, on the snow.
"Is it easy going now?" shouted Maurice.
"Pretty fair," assented the leader. "I haven't had really to extend myself yet. But I think I'll have another ten feet of rope, if you can manage it, before you go down and rope Miss Winton."
"Are you over the worst bit?"
"Nearly. Ten feet more rope will do it. Quite easy after that."
"One moment—" called Maurice. "Can you stand firm? Another ten feet will put me in a splendid position."
A pause; and then—"Yes. All right."
Maurice mounted the few feet without trouble, and wedged himself in where the gully had narrowed sufficiently to imprison a fallen boulder. Each foot had solid support; and his shoulders rested in a hollow between the boulder and the side of the gully. He could hardly have been better placed. When he had made himself secure, Pressford observed—
"It's a bit of a stretch to a perfect hold. Are you quite firm?"