They must have proceeded a quarter of the way across, and had reached a spot where the ledge rose slightly. Even up this slight incline, with the mist freezing under them, it was impossible to crawl; and Percy, drawing himself cautiously to his feet, attempted to stand.
As he did so, the wind, gathering itself into a furious blast, caught him and hurled him against the rocky wall. He recoiled with a sharp cry of pain, and next moment would have fallen into the abyss beneath, had not Jeffreys’ strong arm caught him and held him. His legs were actually off the ledge, and for a moment it seemed as if both he and his protector were doomed. But with a tremendous effort the prostrate Jeffreys swung him back onto the track.
“Are you hurt?” he called.
“My arm,” said Percy. “I’m afraid I can’t get on. I’ll try.”
But the attempt only called up a fresh exclamation of pain.
“We must wait,” said Jeffreys. “Try to sit up, old fellow. I’ll help you.”
It was evident that the boy’s arm, if not broken, was so severely damaged as to render it powerless.
“I could stay here, I think,” said he, “if you went on, Jeff.”
“Nonsense!” said Jeffreys; “we’ll send Julius to fetch help. Here, Julius, good dog,” said he, patting the dog’s head and pointing down to the valley, “go and fetch them here. Fetch Appleby, and Walker, and Mr Rimbolt. Go along, good fellow.”
The dog, who had been crawling behind them, looked wistfully at his master and licked the hand that caressed him. Then, stepping carefully across them as they sat with their backs to the rock and their feet beyond the edge of the path, he departed.