It was as I expected; we turned sharp off to the left and were soon walking with our faces towards the grey-looking face, that at first looked high, but, as we went on, towered up more and more till the height seemed terrific.
It was a weary heart-rending walk before we reached the hill-like slope where the loose shaley rock and earth was ever falling to add to the débris up which we climbed.
“There’s no telling exactly where he must have come over,” said Uncle Jack, after we had searched about some time, expecting moment by moment to come upon the insensible form of our companion. “We must spread out more.”
For we neither of us would own to the possibility of Uncle Dick being killed. For my part I imagined that he would have a broken leg, perhaps, or a sprained ankle. If he had fallen head-first he might have put out his shoulder or broken his collar-bone. I would not imagine anything worse.
The moon was not so clear now, for fleecy clouds began to sail across it and made the search more difficult, as we clambered on over the shale, which in the steepest parts gave way under our feet. But I determinedly climbed on, sure that if I got very high up I should be able to look down and see where Uncle Dick was lying.
To this end I toiled higher and higher, till I could fairly consider that I was touching the face of the mountain where the slope of débris began; and I now found that the precipice sloped too, being anything but perpendicular.
“Can you see him, Cob?” cried Uncle Jack from below.
“No,” I said despondently.
“Stay where you are,” he cried again, “quite still.”
That was impossible, for where I stood the shale was so small and loose that I was sliding down slowly; but I made very little noise, and just then Uncle Jack uttered a tremendous—