“We had better keep on past that bare slope,” said Gunson. “I can see trees on beyond it. It looks green, too, as if there was water.”
Of course we agreed, for there was not a sign of water where we stood, and thirst was beginning to trouble us all.
So we tramped on, Gunson now leading, and the rushing sound of the river below the wall of rock sounding very tantalising as we grew hotter still, and the heat began to be reflected from the stones in a most unpleasant way. It would have been bad enough for the unladen, but for people burdened as we were it was hard work indeed.
At the end of half an hour the river, which had been hidden from us save when we went close to the edge and looked down, came into view again, for the character of the valley had suddenly changed. We found now that there was the steep slope from high up the mountain to the level of the water, which roared and surged along, and swept away the thin pieces of slaty stone which formed the slope—a clatter-slide, as west-country people would call it. These pieces were all loose and extremely unpleasant to walk upon, being shaley fragments of all sizes, from that of a child’s hand up to thin fragments a foot or two across.
The heat here was tremendous, and as we walked the stones gave way beneath our feet, and began setting in motion little stony avalanches, which kept on gliding down till the whole of the slope seemed to be running into the river. No one talked, but strode on, not planting his feet in the footsteps of him who had gone before, but avoiding them, for they formed the centres of so much loose stuff ready to give way at a touch.
We got along over about half a mile of this, and then paused on a bit of a shelf to rest, for about a quarter of a mile farther we saw our resting-place; the clatter ceasing, to give way to verdure with plenty of trees, and in their midst, temptingly beckoning us to fresh exertions, there was the water we needed—a beautiful filmy veil, floating down from hundreds of feet up, arched by a hopeful rainbow, and anon gliding softly like a shower of silver rockets down behind the tall green firs.
We knew that there would be a beautiful pool of water at the foot of that cascade, with green, mossy grass, and plenty of pine-boughs for our fire and to shade us from the scorching sun; and toward this enviable spot we pressed on, with the slope growing steeper and steeper, till at last we paused again for Gunson to investigate.
It was time. For the past five minutes the slide had kept running so much toward the perpendicular, that at every step we loosened stones which began to tear down toward the river, and necessitated leaps and quick plunges to keep us from being carried with them, while a slip would have meant a headlong fall, increasing in speed till the unfortunate was plunged into the foaming torrent which poured down, and would have swept him instantly away.
“Watch how I go,” said Gunson. “Keep cool, and don’t think of falling. I know it is a hard bit to get over, but it is not above a couple of hundred yards where it is so bad; after that it grows better and better, till you reach the trees. Now then, all stand still while I go first.”
He tightened his pack over his shoulder, took a good grip of the rifle, stood for a moment, and then strode forward, going diagonally, as if to reach the top of the slope.