‘Oh, Sartwell—this wa-a-ay!’ ahead, and somewhat above.
‘Yes, I’m coming!’
On the easy slope before his eyes, he saw a trail.
‘... turn to the left at the rotted cedar!’
The voice nearer, his own steps soundless for sixty or seventy feet along the punk of fallen timber; then a bald ridge which the winds had swept clean—a hand raised from the gravel—the old man crumpled there, his lips stretched white in a pained smile.
‘A long time gettin’ to you ... couldn’t make it last night. Where’s your canteen?’
‘Back with my stuff—shall I get it?’
‘No, I guess I can wait a little longer. We’ll get to the cabin. Mebby, leaning a whole lot, I can walk a bit.’
‘What did you do? You haven’t been lying out here all night?’
‘Yes. It happened in the tunnel yesterday ’bout noon—falling rock ... too big for the small of a man’s back. Started a trickle in there, somewhere—’