“Why was it necessary to find a crack?” Foster asked.

“One couldn’t stand on the snow, and if we had tried to sit on it, we’d have shot down to the bottom; for the most part, the walls were ground smooth.  When you go up a place like that, the leader kicks a little hole as high as he can in front, and then stands in it while he makes another.  The rest put their feet in the holes as they follow.  Well, when we set off again I went first and had to use my ax because the snow had hardened into ice, I soon found out I hadn’t quite got better, and was forced to stop when we were nearly half-way up.  We lay down, with our toes in the nicks, to rest, and I slid my flask down to Walters when I’d had a drink.  It was a big flask, and I’d got it filled with brandy.  I thought the guide took a remarkably long drink, but he looked steady when he crawled up to take my place.

“After that it was very slow work and we were glad when we found a knob of rock sticking out of the ice.  It had been ground into the shape of a bridge pier by the rubbish shooting past.  We stopped a bit and argued if we should give it up, but the guide declared he knew a better way down into the next valley and Walters seemed keen, so we ate something, took another drink, and set off again.  The slope was dangerously steep and I thought the guide was using his ax wildly, but we came to a deep crack in the wall and when Walters suggested that it might help us out of the gully I threw off the rope.  It would have been of no use if I had fallen, and I meant to come down unless I saw a fairly safe route to the snowfield.  In fact, I think I meant to give up the climb and only went to find an excuse for this.

“The crack was not quite vertical and gave a good hold, but when I’d got up eighteen or twenty feet I came to an awkward slab.  It bulged out, but I found a hold for my hands and scrambled over the edge.  I managed this because the alternative was falling off and shooting to the bottom of the coulee, but perhaps because I was weaker than I thought, I wrenched my shoulder during the lift.  Anyhow, I couldn’t use my arm.  It appeared afterwards that a ligament was strained, and the joint pinches yet.

“For a minute or two I thought hard.  There was no way up, and I hadn’t nerve enough to lower myself over the ledge by one arm.  When I moved the other cautiously it hurt worse than at first.  I called to the others and told them how I was fixed, but got a shock when the guide looked up.

“‘Can’t get down?’ he said.  ‘Then why in thunder don’t you jump?’

“‘The fool’s drunk,’ Walters explained and added that he’d try to bring me the rope.

“I told him to throw me the end, as there was a knob I could double it round and then slide down both parts.  The trouble was that Walters had nothing much to stand on when he tried to throw the coil.  He lost his balance, slid down the gully, and jerked the guide out of his step.  I saw Walters’ ax shoot down in front, but the guide stuck to his, and the blade dragging over the rough surface checked them a bit.  For all that, it looked as if they’d go straight to the bottom and they would hardly have got there alive, but the small rock wasn’t far below.  I don’t think I breathed while I waited to see if it would bring them up.