Norman laughed, and said nothing.
“It would take nearly two hours up, from this point, and two hours down,” said the doctor. “If you boys were all skilled climbers, and one of you could cut the steps, we might do it in an hour and a half each way. But I wouldn’t let even Norman cut the steps on that pinnacle—he’s not done enough ice climbing. And I’m pretty well fagged already. Besides, it’s three o’clock. If we didn’t get back to this spot till seven, where do you think we’d spend the night? Want to spend it up on these snow-fields, with soaked shoes, and no food, no fire and no blankets?”
“No, and I don’t particularly want to go down that shoulder wall and cross those chutes after dark, either,” Norman said. “It’ll be dark before we get to the horses if we start back now.”
“Give me one shot at the pinnacle, and I’m with you,” Mr. Stone said, pointing his camera.
Bennie and Spider turned reluctantly away. It seemed tough to get up 10,000 feet, almost to the very base of the summit pinnacle, and then have to turn back.
“It’s like being licked, when you still have a punch left,” Bennie said.
“We were licked by daylight, not by the mountain,” his uncle answered.
The descent of the shoulder to the lava block where they had eaten lunch, which Bennie and Spider had expected to make in rapid time, was just as slow as the ascent. The pitch was so steep that they did not dare to come down facing forward. They had to face up the slope, and sink their feet into their old tracks, as you come down a ladder.
At the lava block, Mr. Stone shifted to number one on the rope, so he could be the first down the wall of the drift, and get a movie of the rest. Bennie stayed at number two, Dumplin’ at three, Uncle Billy took number four place, then Spider, and finally Norman. The doctor told them, before they started down, how to make the descent, using the steps cut that morning. You faced sideways to the wall of snow, drove in your stock firmly, and then sank your left foot to the lower step, got a good footing, sank your right foot also, and then pulled out your stock and drove it home again lower down. Everybody was cautioned to keep the rhythm, and not to pull out his stock till the man above had made his step and anchored again.
When they were ready, Mr. Stone slipped over the edge, and Bennie had a sickening feeling as he saw him disappear. When the rope was played nearly out, Bennie started. That first step took his nerve more than anything all day. With his stock driven into the snow at the very edge, he had to look down to see where to place his foot, and in doing so, he had to see past the step, fifteen feet down to the top of Mr. Stone’s hat, and then 300 feet to the bottom of the drift, and then the long, white shoot of the snow-field to the cañon hole! For one instant, Bennie’s knees shook. Then he got a brace on himself, and began slowly, cautiously, to creep down, testing each footing before he pulled out his stock.