San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1923-09-21

trap line had been laid out around
the glacier, following the blazed trail
in the scrub timber. But today the
long way round was particularly
grievous to his spirit. More than a
mile could be saved by leaving the
timber and climbing across the ice,
and only few sets, none of which
had ever proved especially productive.
would be missed.
Without an instant's hesitation he
turned from the trail straight over the
snowy summit toward the cabin. The
cutoff would save him the annoyance
of making camp after dark And since
he had climbed it once before, he
scarcely felt the need of extra eau
ton.
The crossing, however, was not quite
Before the ice had been covered, com
pletely across, with heavy snowfall
no harder to walk on than the open
barrens. He soon found now that the
snow prevailed only to the summit Of
the glacier, and the descent beyond
the summit had been swept clean by
the winds.
Below him stretched half mile of
glare ice, ivory white like the fangs
of some fabulous beast of prey. Here
and there it was gashed with crevices
those deep glacier chasms into
which a stone falls. in silence. For q
moment Ned regarded it with consid-
cradle displeasure.
He decided to take a chance. He
removed his snOwshoes and ventured
carefully out upon the ice.
1t was easier than it looked. His
moccasins chung very well. Steadily
gaining confidence he. walked at
faster pace. The slope was not much
on this side, the glacier ending in an
abrupt cliff many hundred feet in
height, so he felt little need of espe
cial precaution. 1t was in fact, the
easiest walking that he had since his
arrival upon the island. so he decided,
not to turn off clear until he reached
the high ground just to one side of
the ice cliff. HIS crawled down a series
of shelves, picked his way about q
Jagged promontory, and fetched up at
least at the edge of a dark crevice
scarcely 80 feet from the edge of the
snow.
The crevice was not much over five
feet wide at this point, and looking
along, he saw that hundred yards to
his right it ended in a snowbank. But
there was no need of following it
down. He could leap it at a standing
jump; with running start he could
bound ten feet beyond.
He was tired, eager to get to camp
and this was the zero hour. He drew
back three PAGES, preparatory to max
ing the leap.
All the wilderness world seemed to
be straining-listening. The man
leaped forward.
At that instant the North gave him
some sign of its power. His first run
ming step was firm. but at the second
his moccasin failed to hold, slipping
straight back. He pitched forward on
his hands and knees, grasping at the
hard, slippery ice. IS.
He slid rather slowly, with that
sickening helplessness that so often
characteriZes the events of a tragic
dse4m Y &4d ne Wilderness seemed stu
to be waiting, watching, in unutterable
Indifference. Then he pitcked forward
into the crevice. 9 'Y7;E@2 ~
He was not to die at once. There
was still hope of life. He fetched up,
as if by miracle, on an icy shelf ten
feet below the mouth of the crevice-
with sheer walls rising on each side.
XIV
Ned knew what fear was, well
enough, as he lay in the darkened,
chasm, staring up at the white line OF
the crevice above him.
The shelf on which he had fallen
was scarcely wider than his body, and
only because it projected at an upward
incline from the sheer wall had he
come to rest upon it. 1t was perhaps
80 feet long. practically on.a level all,
the way. The wall was sheer for ten
feet above him; beyond the shelf was
only the impenetrable darkness of the
crevice, extending apparently into the
bowels of the earth.
Very cautiously, in imminent danger
of pitching backward into the abyss, he
climbed to his feet. He was tall
man, but his hands, reaching up. did
not come within two feet of the ledge.