"I sure don't know how we're going to get up."
"Stannard got up," said Deering and looked about.
Thirty feet below him the belt of snow pierced the rocks. It looked nearly perpendicular and the snow-field at its foot was horribly steep. In the shadow, the surface was gray and dark patches marked where rocks pushed through. A very long way down, across a sharp but broken line, the color was blue, and Deering thought the line the top of a precipice. He turned and looked up. The slab was upright and about ten feet high; he could not see a crack or knob, but he noted two or three fresh scratches.
"Lean against the rock and spread your arms," he said, and when Peter did so climbed up his back.
Standing on the other's shoulders, he could reach the top of the slab. The top was nearly flat and went back for some distance, but the snow was hard. Deering dared not trust his numbed hands and he tried the pick. The blade got hold, but he could not see farther than the handle. If he had caught a small lump of ice that would not support him, the rope would pull Jardine off the rock. All the same, something must be risked.
"Brace up good," he said and trusted the pick.
The tool held and he got his chest on the top, but now the blade was near his body, his reach was short and when he used his hand his stiff fingers slipped across the snow. It was obvious he must move the pick, but the tool was his main support and the effort to push it forward might send him down. Still, if he could get three or four inches higher, he might, perhaps, balance on the edge.
His boots got no grip on the smooth slab, but when he used his knee his clothes stuck to the stone. When his waist was nearly level with the top he pulled out the pick and moved it forward. For a moment or two the blade came back and he began to go down; then it held and after a stern effort he was up. The rock above the ledge was broken, and throwing the rope across a knob, he helped Peter.
Half an hour afterwards, they reached the ridge behind the buttress. Deering's hands were bleeding and he was not cold. His skin was wet and he breathed by labored gasps. In front, the ridge went up, unevenly, to the neck. The narrow, broken top, for the most part, was supported by precipitous rocks. One must use caution and could not go fast, but after a time a snow cornice began on one side. The top, leveled by the wind, was smooth, and, so far as it rested on the stone, was firm. As a rule, a snow cornice is widest above, and Deering knew if he crossed the line where it overhung its base he might break through, but the marks in front indicated where Stannard had gone.
Stannard knew much about snow cornices and Deering wondered whether he could not have found some grounds for throwing off the rope and letting Jimmy venture on the dangerous overhang. He had obviously not done so; moreover he had brought his companions up the buttress. If Deering himself had meant to let somebody fall, he thought he would have tried at the awkward slab. In fact, he admitted that to picture Stannard's weighing a plan like that was theatrically extravagant. Yet he knew Stannard, who was not the man people thought. He was very clever and if he plotted to get rid of Jimmy, he would not do so soon after he had taken him into the mountains. He would wait until he had nearly carried out his job and was bringing his party down from the rocks. Anyhow, Deering's business was to overtake the party. To wonder whether he exaggerated Jimmy's danger would not help.