“Whew!” breathed Douglas, contemplating the slope. “Our catamount can climb! Imagine a corseted, high-heeled city girl doing that. Imagine me doing that! If I don’t come flopping back down here end-over-end I’ll be lucky. Well, here goes.”
Digging in his toes, he started. For a few feet all went well. Then his soles began to slip, and only a clutch with his free hand stopped his slide. By the time he was half-way up he was clambering crabwise, forcing in his heels. And when he neared the top he was using every support he had—feet, hands, and gun-butt. However, he made the ascent without a fall; and, thanks to his recent days of roving, without much loss of wind.
Marion had disappeared, but the little bundle of food lay beside the cleft. Presently she came creeping back on hands and knees from the outer brink and stood erect.
“Well, Mister Slowpoke, you got here before noon after all,” she gibed. “I ’most went to sleep waitin’, the sun’s so hot out yender. There ain’t any detectives into sight, so when you git rested we can travel ’long.”
“Rested? I’m not so feeble as you think,” he smiled. “And just remember that I have to lift about seventy or eighty more pounds of bone and meat at every step than you do. You’re only a flyweight. Bet I can lift you with one arm.”
“Bet you can’t!” she flashed.
Forthwith he laid down his gun and swept her off her feet. Steadying her with the right hand lightly laid against her shoulders, he raised her on his rigid left forearm. She wriggled, slipped, and instinctively seized him around the neck. Both his arms suddenly tightened around her. Her face came close to his.
The next instant a firm little hand set itself against his chin. Though his grip still held her, her face now was more than a foot away. The slender arm between them was like a steel bar.
“Let go!” she commanded.
“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll kiss you?” His eyes were dancing recklessly. “Or are you afraid I won’t?”