The odds were now on my side. No man in the fast-gathering darkness could hope to climb the cliff face and rejoin that chimney after its interruption. He would go on till he stuck—and then it would not be too easy to get back. I reascended my own cleft, for I had a notion that I might traverse across the space between the two forks, and find a vantage point for a view.
Very slowly and painfully, for my left arm was beginning to burn like fire and my left shoulder and neck to feel strangely paralysed, I wriggled across the steep face till I found a sort of gendarme of rock, beyond which the cliff fell smoothly to the lip of the other fork. The great gully below was now a pit of darkness, but the afterglow still lingered on this upper section and I saw clearly where Medina’s chimney lay, where it narrowed and where it ran out. I fixed myself so as to prevent myself falling, for I feared I was becoming lightheaded. Then I remembered Angus’s rope, got it unrolled, took a coil round my waist, and made a hitch over the gendarme.
There was a smothered cry from below, and suddenly came the ring of metal on stone, and then a clatter of something falling. I knew what it meant. Medina’s rifle had gone the way of mine and lay now among the boulders at the chimney foot. At last we stood on equal terms, and, befogged as my mind was, I saw that nothing now could stand between us and a settlement.
It seemed to me that I saw something moving in the half-light. If it was Medina, he had left the chimney and was trying the face. That way I knew there was no hope. He would be forced back, and surely would soon realise the folly of it and descend. Now that his rifle had gone my hatred had ebbed. I seemed only to be watching a fellow-mountaineer in a quandary.
He could not have been forty feet from me, for I heard his quick breathing. He was striving hard for holds, and the rock must have been rotten, for there was a continuous dropping of fragments, and once a considerable boulder hurtled down the couloir.
“Go back, man,” I cried instinctively. “Back to the chimney. You can’t get further that way.”
I suppose he heard me, for he made a more violent effort, and I thought I could see him sprawl at a foothold which he missed, and then swing out on his hands. He was evidently weakening, for I heard a sob of weariness. If he could not regain the chimney, there was three hundred feet of a fall to the boulders at the foot.
“Medina,” I yelled, “I’ve a rope. I’m going to send it down to you. Get your arm in the loop.”
I made a noose at the end with my teeth and my right hand, working with a maniac’s fury.
“I’ll fling it straight out,” I cried. “Catch it when it falls to you.”
My cast was good enough, but he let it pass, and the rope dangled down into the abyss.
“Oh, damn it, man,” I roared, “you can trust me. We’ll have it out when I get you safe. You’ll break your neck if you hang there.”
Again I threw, and suddenly the rope tightened. He believed my word, and I think that was the greatest compliment ever paid me in all my days.
“Now you’re held,” I cried. “I’ve got a belay here. Try and climb back into the chimney.”
He understood and began to move. But his arms and legs must have been numb with fatigue, for suddenly that happened which I feared. There was a wild slipping and plunging, and then he swung out limply, missing the chimney, right on to the smooth wall of the cliff.
There was nothing for it but to haul him back. I knew Angus’s ropes too well to have any confidence in them, and I had only the one good hand. The rope ran through a groove of stone which I had covered with my coat, and I hoped to work it even with a single arm by moving slowly upwards.
“I’ll pull you up,” I yelled, “but for God’s sake give me some help. Don’t hang on the rope more than you need.”
My loop was a large one and I think he had got both arms through it. He was a monstrous weight, limp and dead as a sack, for though I could feel him scraping and kicking at the cliff face, the rock was too smooth for fissures. I held the rope with my feet planted against boulders, and wrought till my muscles cracked. Inch by inch I was drawing him in, till I realised the danger.
The rope was grating on the sharp brink beyond the chimney and might at any moment be cut by a knife-edge.
“Medina”—my voice must have been like a wild animal’s scream—“this is too dangerous. I’m going to let you down a bit so that you can traverse. There’s a sort of ledge down there. For Heaven’s sake go canny with this rope.”
I slipped the belay from the gendarme, and hideously difficult it was. Then I moved farther down to a little platform nearer the chimney. This gave me about six extra yards.
“Now,” I cried, when I had let him slip down, “a little to your left. Do you feel the ledge?”
He had found some sort of foothold, and for a moment there was a relaxation of the strain. The rope swayed to my right towards the chimney. I began to see a glimmer of hope.
“Cheer up,” I cried. “Once in the chimney you’re safe. Sing out when you reach it.”
The answer out of the darkness was a sob. I think giddiness must
