They had finished a particularly difficult climb over a rocky promontory that projected across the path. Sashu cautiously swung himself down until his feet touched the narrow ledge of the path on the other side. Fenton followed suit, releasing one hand from its tenacious grasp of the rock while he slowly let his weight down. Unable to bear the full strain, the other hand lost its grip and, with a gasp of horror, Fenton felt himself slipping. He lunged frantically for a saving hold with the free hand, but the effort came too late. He continued to slip and came down so rapidly that, when one foot struck on the edge of the narrow ledge, his weight and the momentum of his fall threw him outward.
At such moments the mind acts with lightning rapidity. In the brief second that precedes a plunge to death, the events of a lifetime can flash in fleeting panorama through the human consciousness. Fenton thought of Olga, of the helpless position in which his death would leave her, of Varden, of Ironia and the war—and again of Olga. And then his downward, headlong fall was arrested, brought to a stop with a jarring, crushing violence! He felt a sharp pain in his head, and then darkness closed in.
When Fenton regained consciousness he found himself stretched full length on a ledge of rough rock. His left arm was hanging partly over the ledge. Soon he became aware of numbness and a racking pain in his head. The darkness of night had given way to the dull grey of early dawn, by which token Fenton knew that some hours had elapsed since his fall.
He groaned and shifted himself slightly with a painful effort. For a few moments he remained perfectly still, collecting his strength, and then raised his voice in a call for help. Immediately he heard an exclamation from above and a dark object showed against the grey of the wall of rock that shut off all view of the sky on one side of him. Fenton focused his wandering glance on this object and it finally resolved itself into a head peering over the ledge of the path higher up.
"Fenton! Where are you?" the voice of Crane floated down to him.
"Here," he called back. The hammering pain in his head made his voice seem small and far away.
It was several moments before the voice of Crane again reached his ears. "I see you now," he cried. "Thank heaven you're safe, old man! I've been sitting up here for a century waiting for dawn so that I could get down below and hunt for your body. Sashu left ages ago for help and ought to be back any time now. Are you badly hurt?"
"I think my head's broken," replied Fenton faintly, "and I suspect other injuries."
His voice apparently did not carry to the ledge above, for Crane went right on: "Cheer up, Fenton! I'll have you up out of there in no time. I believe I can see a path leading down there some distance ahead! Just keep easy in your mind and I'll soon be with you."
There was a long silence after that. Several times Fenton called but got no answer. The pain in his head became wellnigh unbearable. When he had just about convinced himself that the presence of Crane on the ledge above had been purely a figment of his fevered imagination, he heard a voice from behind.