“The one Terry hid in a niche of the rocks. Talk of hunting needles in a—”
“But do we need it?”
“Couldn’t risk the climb without it. You’ve never done any mountain scaling—I have.”
“Well, what’s the dope?”
They had stopped and Bill took her arm. “Here—let me knot this end around your waist. First, ditch the slicker, though. You won’t be able to climb in that. I’ll take care of it for the present.”
He took her coat and she felt him make the rope secure.
“I’m tied to the other end,” he told her.
“But what’ll you do about my slicker, Bill? If we ever get to the top of the ridge, I’ll need it.”
Bill was busy and didn’t answer for a moment. Then—“Your coat and mine are rolled up and lashed to my back,” he explained. “I’m going first. I know more about this kind of thing than you, and my reach is longer. May have to pull you up the hard places. Don’t be afraid to put weight on the rope when I give the word. But if you slip—yell.”
He did not say that a slip on her part would in all probability pull him with her to crash on the rocky ground below. Bill Bolton did not believe in being an alarmist, but she understood just the same.