He staggered to his feet—­staggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on a small pedestal.  He put his hand on it—­the hand that had been shot through—­and Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole.  Then he fell.

“Jane—­I—­can’t—­do—­it!” he whispered.

“What?”

“Roll the—­stone!...All my—­life I’ve loved—­to roll stones—­en’ now I—­can’t!”

“What of it?  You talk strangely.  Why roll that stone?”

“I planned to—­fetch you here—­to roll this stone.  See!  It’ll smash the crags—­loosen the walls—­close the outlet!”

As Jane Withersteen gazed down that long incline, walled in by crumbling cliffs, awaiting only the slightest jar to make them fall asunder, she saw Tull appear at the bottom and begin to climb.  A rider followed him—­ another—­and another.

“See!  Tull!  The riders!”

“Yes—­they’ll get us—­now.”

“Why?  Haven’t you strength left to roll the stone?”

“Jane—­it ain’t that—­I’ve lost my nerve!”

“You!...Lassiter!”

“I wanted to roll it—­meant to—­but I—­can’t.  Venters’s valley is down behind here.  We could—­live there.  But if I roll the stone—­we’re shut in for always.  I don’t dare.  I’m thinkin’ of you!”

“Lassiter!  Roll the stone!” she cried.

He arose, tottering, but with set face, and again he placed the bloody hand on the Balancing Rock.  Jane Withersteen gazed from him down the passageway.  Tull was climbing.  Almost, she thought, she saw his dark, relentless face.  Behind him more riders climbed.  What did they mean for Fay—­for Lassiter—­for herself?

“Roll the stone!...Lassiter, I love you!”

Under all his deathly pallor, and the blood, and the iron of seared cheek and lined brow, worked a great change.  He placed both hands on the rock and then leaned his shoulder there and braced his powerful body.

Roll the stone!

It stirred, it groaned, it grated, it moved, and with a slow grinding, as of wrathful relief, began to lean.  It had waited ages to fall, and now was slow in starting.  Then, as if suddenly instinct with life, it leaped hurtingly down to alight on the steep incline, to bound more swiftly into the air, to gather momentum, to plunge into the lofty leaning crag below.  The crag thundered into atoms.  A wave of air—­a splitting shock!  Dust shrouded the sunset red of shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms.  Shafts and monuments and sections of wall fell majestically.

From the depths there rose a long-drawn rumbling roar.  The outlet to Deception Pass closed forever.