As he stopped he whistled again, and the answer sounded shrill and near.
“Below there! Ahoy!” he yelled, and mingling with the echoes came his name, faintly heard, but in the familiar tones.
“Oh dear! What’s a chap to do?” panted Gedge. “I want to holler and shout, and dance a ’ornpipe. Here, I feel as if I’m goin’ as mad as a hatter. Hi! Oh, Mr Bracy—sir—ain’t—half—dead—are—yer?” he shouted, as if he had punctuated his words with full stops.
“Not—much—hurt,” came up distinctly.
“Then here goes!” muttered Gedge. “I must try and get a look at yer, to see where yer are.”
The speaker threw himself on his faces once more, and began to crawl towards the edge of the cornice, to look down into the fairly-light chasm; but shrank back only just in time to save himself from going down with a great patch of snow; and he listened, shudderingly, to the dull rush it made, followed by a heavy pat and a series of whispering echoes. Then faintly heard came the words: “Keep back, or you’ll send an avalanche down.”
“What’s a haverlarnsh?” muttered Gedge. Then aloud, “All right, sir. Can yer get out?”
“I don’t know yet. I must rest a bit. Don’t talk, or you’ll be sending the snow down.”
“All right, sir; but can’t yer tell me what to do?”
“You can do nothing,” came slowly back in distinct tones. “The snow curves over my head, and there is a tremendous depth. Keep still where you are, and don’t come near.”