Before he could shout another warning, she stepped firmly on the icy slope, took another step—a terrifying shriek tore the air! They saw the stick fly from her hand. She pitched forward, doubled over, then rolled down the other side of the precipice.
Judy couldn’t look—was afraid to look. Fran’s practiced eye marked the direction and he and Mr. Lurie ran to where she fell. Karl and Judy, panting with fright, followed.
She lay there stunned—or dead. They didn’t know which. They could only hear their own heavy breathing. Fran was bent over her. Mr. Lurie was on his knees with Fran. They touched her hands, her face. She opened her eyes.
“That you, Professor?” She tried to smile but the pain in her badly bruised face made the smile a grimace. “You see, I got here on my own after all.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She tried to turn her head. “I just want to investigate—the damage.”
“Don’t move, Marian!” Mr. Lurie said quickly. His face was pale, his voice tense. “You may be badly hurt. At first one can’t tell ... shock, you know—”
“Nothing hurts, except—all of me.” Again, that grimace of a smile. “Ouch! My ankle!”
Fran looked stern. “You’re mighty lucky! If you’d rolled another hundred feet—there’s a sheer drop over there.” He shook his head, the picture of misery. “I’ll never understand why you did it.”
There was no further talk. Mr. Lurie and Fran made a carry out of Fran’s rope, cutting it and weaving it like a basket. They spread their jackets over the rope and carried Marian gently to a spot where shrub and a huge rock gave some shelter from the wind. Her ankle bulged big over the sneaker, which miraculously held together. Extra sweaters were piled on Marian, whose teeth were now clattering like castanets.
“I’ve got something to fix her up,” Karl said as he took a large thermos from his rucksack. “Hot coffee! Uncle Yahn’s idea.”
It was a godsend. Marian sipped it as if it were nectar and immediately felt warmer. Judy and the others had a few good swallows and nothing ever tasted half as good.