The party went past this semi-break in the sheer wall, and halted on the out-jutting point of the rim where the luckless flock of sheep had been driven over to destruction. No reference was made to that ruthless slaughter of innocents. Gowan calmly set about preparing a camp. The ladies lay down to watch in the shade of a frost-cracked rock on the verge of the wall.
Already the time had come and gone for the regular signal of the revolver shot. The watchers began to grow apprehensive. Still their straining eyes saw no flash in the depths. A half hour passed. Their apprehension deepened to dread. An hour––they were white with terror.
Suddenly a tiny red spot appeared––not a flash that came and went like lightning, but a flame that remained and grew larger.
“A fire!” cried Isobel. “They have halted and built a fire.”
Genevieve brought the flag and thrust it out over the edge. The inner end of the pole she wedged in a crevice of the split rock.
“They have stopped to rest,” she said. “It may be that Lafayette is worn out. But soon I trust they will be coming up.”
She looked through her glasses. The fire was burning 345 its brightest. She discerned the prostrate figure beside the ledge. She watched it fixedly. Soon another figure appeared in the circle of firelight. It bent over the first, doing something with pieces of stick.
“Look,” whispered Genevieve, handing the glasses to her companion, “Tom is hurt. Lafayette is binding his leg. It is broken or badly strained.––Oh! will your father never come?”
“Tom hurt? It can’t be––no, no!” protested Isobel. But she too looked and saw. After a time she added breathlessly: “It can’t be so bad! Lafe is helping him to rise.... They are starting this way––to the foot of the wall! They will be climbing up!”
“But if his leg is injured!” differed Genevieve.