“Yes. Never mind the pack; you are safe. Why, you did not manage so well as we did, Gordon.”
“No,” I said, feeling very much exhausted and faint; “and yet I thought I could do it better. The stones gave way so.”
Gunson laughed.
“Yes; we ought to have tried another plan. The whole slope is quite rotten, and nothing holds the stones together.”
I looked round now, and found that we were at the very bottom of a steep bit of precipice, down which something blue was coming cautiously, which we recognised as Quong.
“What is it, my man?” said Gunson.
“Come ’long down get pack,” said Quong. “You velly bad?” he continued to me.
“No, no, we must leave it,” said Gunson; and I looked at where my pack lay, tightly done up in its blanket, about a score yards away.
“Leave pack?” cried Quong, looking at Gunson as if he thought him mad. “Leave fo’ Indian man come find? No. Quong set him.” And going quickly and delicately over the stones with a step that was almost cat-like in its lightness, he had reached my bundle almost before Gunson could protest. Swinging it up on his head as he turned, he began to come back as quickly as he went, but now he began to get lower and lower.
“He’ll be swept away!” cried Gunson, excitedly; and, placing one foot at the extreme verge of the firm ground, he reached out towards the Chinaman.