Two Boys in Wyoming: A Tale of Adventure<br />(Northwest Series, No. 3) by Edward Sylvester Ellis (e book reader free .TXT) 📕

As nearly as he could judge he had climbed some twenty paces, when he was startled, upon extending his hand upward, to encounter only the smooth face of the wall. Hitherto there had been more projections than he required, but now the steps appeared to vanish, leaving him without any support.

Could it be he would have to abandon his effort after making so fine a start? Must he pick his way down the side of the canyon, again, to the cavern, and there meekly resume the torture of waiting for death from starvation? Failure was too terrible to be thought of, and he resumed his searching for the indispensable support.

Certainly there was nothing directly above him that would serve, and he passed his right hand to one side. Ah! he caught the sharp edge, after groping for a few seconds. Leaning over, he reached out as far as possible and found the projection extended indefinitely.

"It will do!" he muttered, with a thrill, and, without pausing to reflect upon the fearful risk of the thing, he swung himself along, sustained for an instant by his single hand; but the other was immediately alongside of it, and it was easy to hold himself like a pendulum swaying over the frightful abyss. But there was nothing upon which to rest his feet. He did not wish anything, and, swinging sideways, threw one leg over the ledge beside his hands, and, half-rolling over, raised himself securely for the time on his perch.

"Gracious!" he exclaimed, pausing from the effort; "if I had stopped to think, I shouldn't have dared to try it. If this ledge had been smaller I shouldn't have found room for my body, and there is no way of getting back to the stone on which I was standing. I must go on now, for I cannot go back."

It was plain sailing for a few minutes. The flinty excrescences were as numerous as ever, and he never paused in his ascent until prudence whispered that it was wise to take another breathing spell. It was a source of infinite comfort to feel that when he thus checked himself he was not compelled to do so for lack of support.

There was no way of determining how far he had climbed, and he based his calculation on hope rather than knowledge. The roar of the canyon was notably fainter, and, when he looked aloft, the ribbon of starlit sky appeared nearer than at first. There could be no doubt that he was making his ascent at the most favorable point, for the height was much less than at most of the other places, and he believed this was the portion where Hank Hazletine had climbed from the bottom to the top of the gorge. Could he have been certain of the latter, all misgiving would have vanished.

Not a trace of his panic remained. If Motoza had returned to the cavern, and, discovering the flight of his prisoner, set out to follow him, there was little prospect of his success, for the fugitive had varied from a direct line, and the Sioux might pass within arm's length without being aware of the fact.

There was one peril to which Fred was exposed, and it was fortunate it never entered his mind. Supposing Motoza was standing on the ledge at the bottom of the canyon and gazing upward, weapon in hand, it was quite probable that he would be able to locate the youth. This would be not because of any superiority of vision, but because of that patch of sky beyond, acting as a background for the climber. With his inky figure thrown in relief against the stars, his enemy could have picked him off as readily as if the sun were shining.

This possibility, we say, did not present itself to Fred Greenwood, and, more providential than all, Motoza was not in the canyon.

The slipping of one foot tore most of the sole from the stocking, and his foot had henceforth no protection against the craggy surface.

"I don't mind the stocking," grimly reflected the youth, "for there is another pair in camp and plenty of them at the ranch, but how it hurts!"

He would have been altogether lacking in the pluck he had displayed thus far had he been deterred by physical suffering from pushing his efforts to the utmost. He would have kept on through torture tenfold worse, and he showed himself no mercy.

Few people who have not been called upon to undertake such a work can form an idea of its exhausting nature. It would be hard to think of anyone better prepared than Fred Greenwood to stand the terrific draught upon his strength; but while a long way from the top, and while there was no lack of supports for his hands and feet, and in the face of his unshakable resolve, he was compelled to doubt his success. It seemed as if the dizzy height did not diminish. When he had climbed for a long time and stopped, panting and suffering, the stars appeared to be as far away as ever. He felt as if he ought to have been out of the ravine long before, but the opening looked to be as unattainable as at the beginning.

His whole experience was remarkable to that extent that it can be explained only on the ground that the intense mental strain prevented his seeing things as they were. He had subjected his muscles to such a tension that he was obliged to pause every few minutes and rest. One of his feet was scarified and bleeding, and the other only a little better. When he looked upward his heart sank, for a long distance still interposed between him and the ground above.

"I must have picked the place where the canyon is deepest," was his despairing conclusion; "I feel hardly able to hang on, and would not dare do what I did further below."

He now yielded to a curious whim. Instead of continually gazing at the sky, that he might measure the distance remaining to be traversed, he resolved not to look at it at all until he had climbed a long way. He hoped by doing this to discover such a marked decrease in the space that it would reanimate him for the remaining work.

Accordingly he closed his eyes, and, depending on the sense of feeling alone, which in truth was his reliance from the first, he toiled steadily upward. Sometimes he had to grope with his hands for a minute or two before daring to leave the support on which his feet rested, but one of his causes for astonishment and thankfulness was that such aids seemed never to be lacking.

He continued this blind progress until his wearied muscles refused to obey further. He must rest or he would drop to the bottom from exhaustion. He hooked his right arm over the point of a rock, sat upon a favoring projection below, and decided to wait until his strength was fully restored.

He could not resist the temptation to look up and learn how much yet remained to do.

Could he believe his senses? He was within a dozen feet of the top!

He gasped with amazement, grew faint, and then was thrilled with hope. He even broke into a cheer, for the knowledge was like nectar to the traveller perishing of thirst in the desert—it was life itself.

All pain, all suffering, all fatigue were forgotten in the blissful knowledge. He bent to his work with redoubled vigor. If the supports continued, his stupendous task was virtually ended.

And they did continue. Not once did the eagerly-feeling hands fail to grasp a projection of some form which could be made to serve his purpose. Up, up he went, until the clear, cool air fanned his temples, when, with a last effort, he drew himself from the canyon, and, plunging forward on his face, fainted dead away.

He lay in a semi-conscious condition for nearly an hour. Then, when his senses slowly returned, he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. It was too early for the moon, and the gloom prevented his seeing more than a few paces in any direction.

But how the pain racked him! It seemed as if every bone was aching and every muscle sore. The feet had been wholly worn from each stocking, and his own feet were torn and bleeding. He had preserved his shoes, but when he came to put them on he groaned with anguish. His feet were so swollen that it was torture to cover them, and he could not tie the strings; but they must be protected, and he did not rise until they were thus armored.

He was without any weapons, but the torment of his wounds drove that fact from his mind. All that he wanted now was to get away from the spot where he could not help believing he was still in danger of recapture. But when he stood erect and the agony shot through his frame, he asked himself whether it was possible to travel to the plateau without help; and yet the effort must be made.

He had a general knowledge of his situation, and, bracing himself for the effort, he began the work. It was torture from the first, but after taking a few steps his system partly accommodated itself to the requirement and he progressed better than he anticipated. He was still on the wrong side of the canyon, which it was necessary to leave before rejoining his friends. He was wise enough to distrust his own capacity after the fearful strain, and did not make the attempt until he found a place where the width was hardly one-half of the extent leaped by him and Jack Dudley. As it was, the jump, into which he put all his vigor, landed him just clear of the edge, a fact which did much to lessen the sharp suffering caused by alighting on his feet.

He yearned to sit down and rest, but was restrained by the certainty that it would make his anguish more intense when he resumed his tramp toward camp. Furthermore, as he believed himself nearing safety, his impatience deepened and kept him at work when he should have ceased.

As he painfully trudged along, his thoughts reverted to his climb up the side of the canyon and he shuddered; for, now that it was over, he could not comprehend how he dared ever make the effort. Not for the world would he repeat it, even by daylight.

"Heaven brought me safely through," was his grateful thought.

But as he drew near the plateau his musings turned thither. He had counted upon finding Jack Dudley and the guide there; but they might be miles away, and he would not see them for days. He knew he needed attention from his friends and could not sustain himself much longer. If he should be unable to find them——

But all these gloomy forebodings were scattered a few minutes later by the glimmer of the camp-fire on the other side of the plateau. One of his friends at least must be there, and providentially it proved that both were present.

At last the clothing of Jack Dudley was dried, and he felt thoroughly comfortable in body. While he was employed in the pleasant task, Hank Hazletine went away in quest of food. It took time and hard work to find it, but his remarkable skill as a hunter enabled him to do so, and when he returned he brought enough venison to serve for the evening and morning meal. No professor of the culinary art could have prepared the meat more excellently than he over the bed of live coals. The odor was so appetizing that the youth was in misery because of his impatience, but the guide would not let him touch a mouthful until the food was done "to the queen's taste." Then they had their feast.

And yet the two were oppressed by thoughts of the absent one. The attempts of his friends during the day to help or to get trace of Fred Greenwood had been brought to naught, and it looked as if they would have to consent to the humiliating terms of Tozer and Motoza, with strong probability that the missing youth was never again to be seen alive.

"I think, Hank," said Jack, when the cowman had lit his pipe, "that we should run no more risks."

"How can we help it?"

"When you meet Tozer to-morrow morning by appointment, tell him the price he asks will be paid, but everything must be square and above board."

The guide looked at his companion a moment in silence. Then he said:

"If you'll turn the matter over in your mind, younker, you'll see that this bus'ness can't be put through