“But why––why did you not––tell me?”
“I did not know. She did––she knew from the first, there at Stockchute. I see it now. Even before that, she must have guessed it. Yes, I see all now. She sent for me to come out here, because she thought I might be her brother.”
“You did not tell me!” reproached Ashton, his face ghastly. “How was I to know?”
“I tell you, I did not know,” repeated Blake. “At first––yes, all along––there was something about her voice and face––But she had changed so much, and all these years––eight, nine years––I had thought her dead. She gave me no sign––only that friendliness. I did not know until the very last moment, there on the edge of the ravine. I thought you saw it; that you heard her tell me. It seemed to me everybody must have heard.”
“I was running away––I could not bear it. I think I must have been crazy for a time. If only I had heard! My God! if only I had heard!”
“Well, you know now,” said Blake. “What’s done is done. The question now is, what are you going to do next?”
Instantly Ashton’s drooping figure was a-quiver with eagerness.
“You wish first to be taken up near the driftwood,” 337 he exclaimed. “Let me lift you. Don’t be afraid to put your weight on me. Hurry! We must lose no time!”
Blake was already struggling up. Ashton strained to help him rise erect on his sound leg. Braced and half lifted by the younger man, the engineer hobbled and hopped along the barrier crest and up its sloping side. His trained eye picked out a great weather-seasoned pine log lying directly beneath the outermost point of the cañon rim. An object dropped over where the flag still flecked against the indigo sky, would have fallen straight down to the log, unless deflected by the prong of a ledge that jutted out twelve hundred feet from the top.
“Here,” panted Blake, regardless of the great pile of skeletons heaped on the far end of the log. “This place––right below them! Go back––bring fire and rope.”