“Yes.”
“Take your packs on your heads, and when you start keep right on; never hesitate; I’ll be ready to help.”
We heard every word distinctly, and it sounded curiously like a whisper that ran along the surface of the stones; and when he had ended, Quong looked at me sharply with his little black eyes.
“Me go long nex’,” he said; and as I nodded, he balanced his great pack deftly on his head, paused for a few moments to get it quite satisfactory, and then stretching out his arms like one who walks along a pole, he started off, while so steep was the slope that his extended fingers nearly touched the stones as he went along.
The little fellow was so light, so steady and clever, that he tripped forward without dislodging anything like the amount of stones that Gunson had set running. But I could see that the effort needed was terrible as he went on and on, increasing his speed now, slowing then, and getting more and more over with far less effort, and giving us no end of encouragement, as he at length reached the rocks, tumbled the load off his head—the load which had never seemed once to lose its poise—and finally we could see him seated facing us wiping his hot face with the front of his blouse.
“He’s got over,” said Esau, hoarsely.
“Yes,” I said, in the same husky tones.
“One of us has got to go next.”
“Yes,” I said. “Who shall go?”
“Wish I’d got a good pole with a spike at the end,” said Esau.