Deering pulled out his glasses and went to the opening in the wood. The light was getting stronger, but he did not think the cloud would altogether melt and he must search the rocks while search was possible. By and by a beam touched the ridge and the snow glimmered like pale gold against blue shadow. Above the shadow were broken peaks, but the belt of dark blue indicated a gap and Deering, noting the strong color, thought the gap profound.
The landscape, lighted by the unsteady beam, was strangely beautiful. The pale illumination did not travel far and the rocks outside its reach owed something of their mysterious grandeur to the contrast. Deering, however, was not romantic and thought he saw a line, across a steep, white slope and up a buttress, to the ridge. If he could get up, he would cut Stannard's track and imagined he would not be much behind the party.
He concentrated on the ridge. The slope along the top was not even but went up, rather like a terraced walk. Rocky buttresses supported the terraces, and, for the most part, the stones were free from snow; Deering knew this indicated a very steep pitch. One buttress was marked by a broad white band, and when he rubbed the glasses he thought he saw on the snow a small object he had not remarked before. The object moved, and calling Peter, he gave him the glasses.
"What's that? A cinnamon?"
"The bears have come down," said Peter. "The big-horn have gone for the low benches. I guess the thing's a man."
Deering agreed and waited. Perhaps it was strange, but of all the animals, civilized man alone was willing to front the cold on the daunting heights. The ridge, outlined against a vague background of majestic peaks, looked as remote as another world. To imagine flesh and blood could reach it was hard, but Deering meant to try and knew Stannard's calculating steadiness. If one went carefully, studying the obstacles, and using the ax and rope—
"It's a man all right. I see another," said Jardine and gave Deering the glasses. Deering saw three men. They advanced very slowly, and he pictured their cutting steps before they moved. One crossed the snow-belt and vanished. When he was anchored in the rocks he would steady his companions. Deering knew it was Stannard, for Stannard would not trust a poor guide at a spot like that. The others, perhaps, were Dillon and Stevens. Then he saw two more; Gillane, the packer, and Jimmy. Anyhow, Stannard had started with three companions and now he had four. Deering knew all he wanted to know.
He watched the party, strung out at even distances, move across the white band; and then the figures melted. They had not reached the other side, but when he rubbed his glasses they were gone. The peaks in the background vanished, the ridge got indistinct, and the black pines on the lower snow-fields faded, as if a curtain were drawn across the picture.
Deering shut his glasses and went for his pack. The mist was not thick and he knew his line to the buttress.
"Put out the fire and let's get off," he said.