"With you right away!" he assured the girl between clenched teeth, and started to work out across the wall.
Still he had hear nothing from Crill. But the lines of acute anxiety were deep drawn at the corners of his eyes and lips. At any instant he might hear the direful sound of a rock toppling from the brink overhead, and every nerve and fiber of his body seemed to flinch before the imminence of the moment. He dared not look up; could only look at the wall before him. And every seam and chink of that remorseless surface of rock was etched in detail, to be seared upon his memory forever.
With toes scraping and thumping, he edged his way along the crack, inch by inch, hand against hand. He had only a short distance to go, but it seemed to his overstrained faculties that he must have traversed half the width of the mountainside, when at last he put down his foot and found solid rock beneath him. For the first time he ventured to look aside, and he saw that he had reached the girl's shelf.
Breathing quickly, he let his weight down and relaxed his aching arms. His resting place was the top of an outcropping rock, about two feet wide, that tilted with a decided downward cant. He dug with his hobnail boots into the rotted stone, but for further safety his hand still clung to the crack in the wall. It was no wonder that the girl had feared she would loose her precarious hold. She wore smooth-soled boots; and the slim fingers, still grasping the ledge, were blue with the cold, and bleeding at the tips. Dexter reached towards her, passed his hand beneath her armpit, and drew her against his supporting shoulder.
She swayed closer, trembling, her face hidden in the curve of his arm. "Oh, thanks—thanks!" she whispered in broken, breathless accents. "You came!"
"Steady!" he said, his voice low and soothing. "Take it easy, Alison. All right now." He slid his arm about her waist, and managed to get both her icy hands in his. "Why, they must be numb!" he exclaimed. "Here—let's get 'em warm. We've got to start circulation."
"I don't know how I lasted," she said with a shudder, clinging tighter to him. "I was afraid—I never thought—"
"Don't think about it," he advised. "It's over with."
He leaned outward as he spoke to gaze nervously towards the cliff top. It struck him that there was something ominous in the silence overhead. Crill had not yet returned, and the corporal could not imagine what stealthy game he was playing. He dreaded seeing the man again; but also the prolonged absence was disquieting.
"If by any chance the chap up there's a friend of yours," Dexter said suddenly, a note of harshness striking through his voice, "I'd advise you to have him call a truce—at least until I can get you safely out of this."