“Well, go on up with your rope, and throw us down an end,” Tom taunted.
“We’ll have to work around till we can find a chimney, won’t we?” Bennie asked the scout master.
“Or a ladder,” Billy added.
They moved along under the beetling face of the rock, going in up to their waists in the snow which had drifted against the base, until they came to a sort of gully which divided the main cliff from an out-thrown spur like a bowsprit. This gully was very steep, about sixty-five degrees, and was partly filled with snow. A few laurel bushes grew in it here and there, and it evidently led up to a ledge, because at the top a little pine tree was growing, a hundred feet above their heads.
“If we can get up anywhere, it’s here,” the scout master announced.
Bennie uncoiled the rope and fastened one end around his waist, so his hands would be free. Then he started up the gully. There was no question of cutting steps—the snow was too soft. All he could do was to tread it down under his feet and trust to its holding him without sliding down until he could reach up to a laurel bush and pull himself a bit higher. Twice he slid back. Once his mittens slipped on a bush, and he came down ten feet before he could get a hold on something. Then he took his mittens off, and climbed bare handed. Those below heard him give a yell of triumph just as the last of the rope was apparently going up after him, and then they saw him come out on the ledge and tie his end of the rope around the pine tree.
“Come on!” he called. “All fast! Wow, but my hands are cold!”
The others came up easily enough, for they had the rope to pull on, and soon they were all standing on the tiny ledge, a hundred feet above the base of the cliff.
“Well, Tom, the old rope was some help, eh?” Bennie demanded.
“Where do we go from here?” was Tom’s reply.