Jumping from a boulder, he fell into the swollen beck and made his way up the nearly perpendicular slab. At the top he found a dangerous ledge and advanced upon the sheep, which had their backs to the stream. Twining his fingers in a lamb's wool, he picked up the animal and balancing himself precariously threw it as far as he could. It fell into the beck and scrambled out on the other side, where the track led down the ghyll. The effort had cost him much, for his heart beat and he gasped for breath, but he doubted if he had done enough. Dragging another lamb from the flock, he hurled it into the water, and then his foot slipped and he rolled down the slab and fell in the snow.
He got up, badly shaken, and saw that his plan had worked. Sheep will follow a leader and the flock was straggling down the ghyll behind the lambs. Kit recrossed the beck and descended cautiously, keeping close to the rocks. The ghyll is a rough climb in daylight, and summer tourists, trying to cross the fells, often turn back at the bottom. There is no path and one scrambles over large, sharp stones, some of which are loose and fall at a touch. In places, banks of treacherous gravel drop to the beck, which plunges over ledges into deep, spray-veiled pools. Now the stones were slippery with snow, the wind raged, and mist and tossing flakes hid the ground a few yards ahead.
Somehow he got down, but he was exhausted and breathless when he reached the bottom, where he was forced to wait before he could whistle to his dog. He heard its bark and stumbling forward, found the flock bunched together in a hollow. Then he sat down in the snow while Tom counted the sheep.
"They're aw here," said the shepherd. "A better job than I thowt we'd mak! Weel, let's gan on."
Kit was tired, and bruised by his fall, but he went forward behind the dogs. His troubles were over, for a broad smooth path led along the hill-foot to Mireside.
CHAPTER VII
THE RECKONING
The morning was dark, and although the gale had dropped, a raw, cold wind blew up the valley past Mireside farm, where three or four farmers' traps and some rusty bicycles stood beneath the projecting roof of a barn. The bleating of sheep rose from a boggy pasture by the beck, and lights twinkled as men with lanterns moved about in the gloom. Now and then somebody shouted and dogs barked as a flock of Herdwicks was driven to the pens.
In the flagged kitchen, Mrs. Railton and Lucy bustled about by the light of a lamp and the glow of the fire. The table was covered with used plates and cups. The men outside had breakfasted, but one or two more might come and Mrs. Railton wondered when Kit would arrive. She had lain awake for the most part of the night, thinking about him and the strayed Herdwicks while she listened to the gale. Now and then Lucy went to the door and looked up the dale to the glimmering line of foam that marked the spot where Bleatarn beck came down. A path followed the water-side, but she could not see men or sheep in the gloom, and if Kit did not come soon he would be too late.
Railton sat gloomily by the fire. He had had rheumatic fever, and the damp cold racked his aching joints; besides, there was nothing for him to do. He had called in his neighbors to value his flock, but he knew, to a few pounds, what their judgment would be. Hayes Would presently arrive, and Railton would be asked to pay, or give security for, the shortage, which was impossible. Hayes knew this and meant to break his lease. Perhaps the hardest thing was that the shortage was small; if the next lambing season were good, he could pay. But Hayes would not wait.