They rested a minute, the men leaning upon their muskets. Then——
“Come, boys,” the lieutenant urged impatiently. “One more stint and we’ll make it. Forget your feet. Think only of the top.”
They climbed, breathing short and fast while they clambered and slipped. At noon they still had not reached the top; several times the top seemed at hand, but when they glimpsed it, shining white, it always was across another ridge, and higher.
Stub’s ears rang, his heart drummed, his feet weighed like lead. The two soldiers staggered and stumbled. The snowstorm below appeared far. But the lieutenant and the doctor knew no quitting.
“We’ll not reach it, this day,” gasped John Brown. “’Tis the same old story. Marchin’, and marchin’, and never gettin’ there.”
“Anyhow, we’ll reach it to-morrow,” Terry replied.
The sun sank; the air grew very cold. Up here there was nothing moving but themselves; the deer and the pheasants and the squirrels had gone to bed. The pines were soughing mournfully in an evening breeze.
The lieutenant came to a stop before a reddish cliff which overhung and formed a shallow cave.
“We’ve done enough for one day,” he panted. Even he looked tired out. “I think we’ll gain the top shortly in the morning. We’re into snow, and the trees are thinning; the top cannot be far. We’ll take advantage of this cave, for the night. It’s a shelter, at least.”