I started again, and from that moment the nervous sensation of dread left me. I felt firm and strong, and that all I had to do was to step boldly, and think of nothing but my pack, taking care that it did not escape from its resting-place upon my head. And oddly enough, my anxiety lest I should let it fall to go bounding down the slope, kept me from thinking about myself as I tramped on, with stones rattling, my feet going down with them, and my breath coming shorter and shorter with the exertion. But I kept my load well balanced, and went on till I was about half way across, when the stones seemed to be much smaller and began to flow like sand. It appeared as if all the larger ones had been set in motion by my companions, and that they had gone down, sweeping the surface clear for me to grow more involved at every step, till I found that no matter how I struggled to get higher so as to keep near the horizontal line of the crossing, I kept sinking lower and lower till I felt that I should glide right into the river before I was across.
With a desperate feeling of determination I kept on bearing up toward the top, but it was always quite labour in vain, through my want of skill, as the smaller stones being more fluent, I found myself still sinking down more and more with every step, till, mingled with the peculiar rattle of the gliding stones, came the roar of the river foaming and dashing amongst the rocks, and into which I expected to be plunged.
Forward still, with a feeling of anger growing within me—a contempt for my own weakness that still kept back the feeling of dread. I had lost sight of Gunson and Esau, and thinking now of nothing but keeping on my legs, I dragged foot after foot out of the stones, and tried to plant one on firmer ground, but tried in vain, till at last I had been carried down so low that though my head was averted, and my eyes were directed toward the spot I ought to have reached, I knew, as I made my last desperate effort, that I was only a few yards above the water.
Then, crash!—crash!—crash!—crash!—my feet striking heavily and sending the stones flying, I fought blindly on. There was a singing in my ears, a sense of strangling in my throat, and above all, a dull, half-stunned sensation, mingled with which were thoughts of the others; and then as darkness came over me, and I fell forward, there was a sharp jerk, a few encouraging words were said by some one, and I found myself lying amongst stones and moss, too much exhausted to speak.
“Better?” said a well-known voice.
“Better?” I said, faintly; “have I been ill?”
“Ill? No, my lad; but you’ve had a narrow escape. You were nearly down to the edge of the river when I got hold of your hand.”
“And the pack?” I said, in a husky whisper.
“It lies out yonder on the slope, waiting till the next slide of stones sweeps it away.”
“Then I dropped it?” I said, wonderingly.