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24 THE CARIBOO TRAIL

anything to eat since six that morning. Old
Sandy wanted to go back, but I wouldn’t let
him. He was trembling like an aspen leaf.
It is so often just the one pace more that wins
or loses the race. We laboured up that slope
and reached the bench just at dark. We were
so tired we had hauled ourselves up by trees,
brushwood branches, anything. I looked over
the edge of the rock. It dropped to that shelf
we had seen from the gully below. It was too
dark to do anything more; we knew the
fellows back at the camp on the ridge would
be alarmed, but we were too far to signal.’

‘ How far ?’ I asked.

‘About twenty-two miles. We threw our-
selves down to sleep. It was terribly cold.
We were high up and the fall frosts were icy,
I tell you! I woke aching at daybreak. Old
sandy was still sleeping. I thought I would
let myself down over the ledge and see what
was below, for there were no mineral signs
where we were. I crawled over the ledge, and
by sticking my fingers and toes in the rocks
got down to about fifteen feet from the drop
to a soft grassy level. I looked, hung for a
moment, let go, and ‘“‘lit”’ on all fours. Then
I looked up! The sun had just come over that
east ridge and hit the rocks. I can’t talk