“It just can’t be helped having only one sledge,” said Peggy. “Captain Flint has a little one of his own, but nobody knows where he’s gone and stowed it.”
“They won’t mind being dogs with Titty and me,” said Roger.
“Not a bit,” said Dick and Dorothea.
CHAPTER XI
CRAGFAST SHEEP
“HI!” called Roger, “it’s somebody else’s turn.”
“They’ve had it a good long time,” said Susan, as John stopped to look back at the dog team – Dorothea, Dick, Titty, and Roger, each at the end of a short length of rope fastened to the sledge on which were some nearly empty knapsacks and the big coil of the Alpine rope.
“We’ll take it again,” said Peggy, and the three leaders waited till the panting dog team came up.
The Greenland crossing was in full swing. Dorothea and Dick had met the others at the igloo. They had climbed through the woods, all seven of them pulling on the ropes, dragging the sledge up the steep fell side. They had travelled far and fast on the top of the fells. They had had their dinner up in High Greenland sitting on the sledge and watching the blue shadows of little fine-weather clouds sweep across the shining slopes of snow. And now, with food inside them instead of in the knapsacks, they were swinging up and down along the fells towards the foot of the lake. Sometimes the four dogs would be pulling the sledge up out of a dip in the moorland. Sometimes, sitting on the sledge, they would go sliding down into another. In the hollows of the moorland they might have been in Greenland indeed. On the top of the ridges they could look about them and see the distant mountains, some of which Peggy knew by name, climbing, white, into the clear sky. Somewhere to the right of them they knew the fell must drop steeply into the valley, but where, they could not see. It was as if the fells on one side of the lake met those on the other in an unbroken sheet of snow. On the left were grey crags, with snow-covered screes at the foot of them. Just here, where the three elders waited to take over the sledge, the crags were very near, and high rocky spurs with ravines between them ran down into the fell country.
DOG TEAM IN HIGH GREENLAND
The four dogs slipped out of their harness.
“It’s hotter than it is in summer,” said Titty.
“It won’t be if you don’t keep moving,” said Susan.
“Well, we’re jolly hot now,” said Roger.
Dick, who had never before been in such country as this, was looking up towards the high crags, and listening. What was that queer, thin noise up there, like the mewing of a kitten? Two birds, far-away brown specks, were floating round the summits of the crags.
“Is it those birds making that noise?” he asked.
“Buzzards,” said Peggy. “Just calling to each other. There are nearly always some of them up there round the crags.”
“I’ve seen them in books,” said Dick, speaking more to himself than to anyone else.
Roger was watching the harnessing of the elders.
“Good strong dogs,” he said to Dorothea. “They’ll be able to go a long way. Look here. I say, Titty, we’ll have the rope now. We’ll go in front with it, in case of accidents. The dogs are sure to follow.” He pulled the Alpine rope off the sledge.
“Shiver my timbers!” said Peggy, in her best Nancy manner. “Sure to follow, indeed!”
And with that the sledge was off, John, Susan, and Peggy together, at a good round trot, up over the top of a ridge and down out of sight into the dip beyond it.
“Don’t go so fast,” shouted Titty, a few minutes later. But the others did not hear her. That first rush with which they had started had carried them out of hearing while Roger and Titty had been uncoiling the rope.
“I wish we had ice axes, too,” said Roger.
“Hi, Dick,” said Titty, “you’ve got to make a loop for yourself in the rope.”
Dick woke up suddenly and turned round, looking at them with eyes that hardly saw them, dazzled after staring so long up into the bright sky where the buzzards, with hardly a flap of their great wings, wheeled round and round the crags.
“Do you think they’ve got a nest up there? Let’s just try to see it. I’ve never seen them before except in books.”
“Come on,” said Roger, “it’s our turn to explore. Lucky I thought of the rope.”
“We could go just a bit nearer,” said Titty, looking first towards the crags, and then at the deep tracks of the sledge and of those three sturdy dogs who had gone off at such a pace. “We can’t possibly lose our way. We’ve only got to come back here and follow their trail.”
“A very little bit nearer might be enough,” said Dick, trying to bring his telescope to bear on those endlessly moving brown birds.
“Let’s try,” said Dorothea.
*
The four explorers, strung out along the rope, had left the sledge track and were working their way towards the crags. A steep-sided rocky ridge ran down to the right of them. They were in a narrowing gully between that ridge and another on their left. Titty led. After all, she and Roger were far more experienced explorers than the others, and she was the older of the two. Dorothea followed Titty. Next along the rope came Dick, with Roger some way behind him. And all the time from far up there in the sky came those strange shrill mewings of the buzzards, and Dick, with his eyes on the birds, hardly noticed where he put his feet, and was moving like a sleepwalker. Once Roger, out of mischief, or just out of Rogerishness, stopped suddenly, so that Dick was brought up sharp by the taut rope. But Dick never knew what had happened. He gave a bit of a pull, as if he thought the rope had somehow got stuck, and then walked on as before, with his eyes on the birds and on those high rocks, looking for any signs of their nest.
“Let’s get up on the top of the ridge,” said Titty, “and just see what the others are doing.”
She turned up the steep slope and presently, reaching the top of it, caught a glimpse of the sledge, with Peggy, John, and Susan harnessed to it, small, dark figures moving on the snow.
“Good dogs!” cried Roger. “Good dogs!”
“We ought to go after them,” said Titty. “They don’t know we’ve gone another way.”
And just then Dick, who for the moment was not interested in sledges and had forgotten Greenland, thought he saw what he was looking for.
As the ridge lifted towards the crags its sides became steeper. Not far beyond the place where they had climbed it an almost precipitous rock rose nearly to the top of it out of the gully they had left. Dick was looking at something high on the face of this rock.
“There’s something there that might be a nest,” he said. “Not up by the buzzards. There . . . On that ledge.”
“I think we ought to go back,” said Dorothea, “the others are a tremendous way ahead.”
“Just let me get my telescope on it,” said Dick. And then, a second or two later, “It’s not a nest. It’s a sheep. It’s a dead sheep.”
“Where?” said Roger. “Let me see it.”
“But it isn’t dead,” said Dorothea. They had all seen a grey head lift an inch or two and fall again.
A faint bleat floated down wind to them, very different from the shrill, sharp cries of the buzzards.
“It’s ill,” said Dorothea.
“Come on,” said Titty.
All thoughts of catching up the elders were forgotten.
The sheep was lying on a narrow ledge, so that when they got down into the gully below it they might have thought it was sticking to the face of the rock. But the ledge ran back along the rock, widening at last at the point where the rock stuck up out of the fell.
“It must have started along the ledge where there was lots of room,” said Dorothea, “and gone on and on, nibbling at bits of grass, with the ledge getting narrower and narrower until it couldn’t turn round. And it couldn’t go on either, because the ledge comes to an end. It’s probably starving.”
“That does happen to sheep on the fells,” said Titty. “Specially when there’s a
bit of snow. They get on the sheltered side of a ridge and get stuck in all sorts of ways.”
“How are we going to get it down?” said Roger.
Dorothea looked at Dick. This was one of the moments when she was sure he would come out of his dreams and be more practical than anybody else.
“Along the ledge,” said Dick. “We can climb up here at the side of the rock. If the sheep could get along, I can, and there won’t be any bother about turning back, because I’ve not got four legs.”
“Let me come,” said Roger.
“Rubbish,” said Titty. “Who fell down when we were climbing Kanchenjunga?”
“But, Dick,” said Dorothea, “what can you do when you get to the sheep? You can’t carry it.”
“I’m going to take the rope,” said Dick. “Perfectly safe. You others will have to go along the top of the rock with the other end of the rope. You’ll go along the top. I’ll go along the ledge. Then I’ll fasten the rope to the sheep and you’ll be able to lower it down.”
“But what’ll you do without any rope at all?” said Titty.
“Sit on the ledge,” said Dick. “It isn’t really harder than sitting on a chair. Scientifically speaking. The only thing that matters is to keep your Centre of Gravity on the right side of the edge. And, of course, you mustn’t look down. I won’t. I’ll look at the buzzards. It’ll be perfectly easy.”
Just then there was another faint bleat from high on the face of the rock, and again they saw the sheep move its head as if it were too weak even for that.
“Will he really be all right?” asked Titty. “I couldn’t do it, and I know Roger couldn’t.”
“Yes, I can,” said Roger.
“Well, you’re not going to try,” said Titty, remembering that for the moment she was in Susan’s place.
“He’ll be all right,” said Dorothea stoutly, and then, “But don’t go and forget where you are. You’d better not look at those buzzards.”
Dick had already wriggled out of his loop in the Alpine rope and was busy undoing the knot.
“Undo yours, too,” he said to Dorothea. “It mustn’t go and catch on a bit of heather or anything like that.”
They went back a little way along the gully and climbed up the steep slope of the ridge close beside the rock. When they came to the place where the ledge started it was easy to see how the sheep had been tempted to go along it. Dick stopped there, and pushed his head and shoulders through the loop at one end of the rope. The others climbed on, paying out rope as they climbed.
“I wish John was here,” said Titty, as they left him.
Dick hardly heard her. He was thinking now of nothing but the details of his plan.
“You mustn’t come too near the edge of the cliff up on the top,” he said, “just in case I slip. A sudden jerk might pull you over if you were right on the edge. Sure you’ve got enough rope?”
“Lots,” said Titty. “But, Dick, it’s awfully overhanging in places.”
“Well, the rope won’t have any weight on it till it’s fastened to the sheep. We’ll have to twitch it along. Like a skipping-rope,” he added, to make sure that the others understood what he meant.
*
“Ready!”
The three on the slope above him moved out of sight along the top of the rock.
“Starting!”
He set foot on the ledge, left the steep snow-covered slope, and had a sheer drop below him to the rocky screes. But, at first, the ledge was broad enough for easy walking, and he stepped out confidently, every few yards taking hold of the rope and flicking it outwards so that it moved with him along the cliff. Here and there the snow had been blown from the ledge, or melted, and he could see tufts of grass. Scientifically speaking, of course, it was no harder than walking along a narrow path. But it somehow felt very different when he looked down past his feet to the grey rocks that showed through the snow so far below him.
And then, as the ledge narrowed, he realized that he was in continual danger of slipping. He had never done any climbing, even in summer, and this was much worse than summer climbing. There was a thin film of ice on the ledge, partly hidden by little drifts of snow. It was not safe to put a foot down without first clearing the snow to make sure that the foot had something firm on which to stand and that it was not going to slip sideways off the ledge into nothingness. And the ledge kept on getting narrower. Dick found it best to keep his back against the cliff and to move sideways, always with his right foot foremost, after using it to scrape away the snow.
“Are you all right?”
That was Dorothea’s voice from above him. Odd to know she was there, talking to him, when the only living things he could see were those buzzards still circling round the higher crags. He had a stiff corner of rock to get round before he would be able again to see the sheep.
“Are you all right?”
“So far.”
There was really nothing to worry about, with those three on the rope. But, at the same time, it would not do to slip, and have to be lowered to the bottom and go back and start again at the beginning of the ledge. He tried not to let his eyes wander off the ledge, but it was difficult to look down at it without seeing past it, to the screes far below. And he must not think of buzzards. Not yet. Sheep. He would think only of the sheep and of how best to tie the rope round it. These sailors seemed to know all sorts of knots. Look at the neat way in which they tied things on their sledge. Oh, well, he supposed he would manage. And just then he felt the rope catch. He gave it the usual light, outward flick, to shift it along the top of the cliff. It did not stir. He looked up to see what held it, and saw that the face of the rock leaned out above him far beyond the ledge.
“Half a minute,” he shouted.
This needed thinking about. He could still stand upright under the overhang, but he could see that a few yards ahead of him the overhang sloped out from so near the ledge that, though it had been no obstacle for a sheep, it left very little room for a boy.
“Half a minute,” he called again. “I’ve got to sit down. Let out some more rope.”
“Is anything wrong?” That was Titty’s voice.
“No. But the rock leans out, so you’ll have to let the rope out a lot and then jerk it round. Don’t start jerking just for a minute. I’ve got to get sitting down.”
“Why?” called Dorothea. “You’re not giddy?”
“No,” said Dick. “Centre of Gravity. If I try to get past standing up, my Centre of Gravity will get pushed too far out by the cliff.”
Overhead, on the top of the rock, Titty and Dorothea and Roger looked at each other.
“I suppose he’s all right?” said Titty.
“Quite,” said Dorothea, “so long as he talks like that.”
They could see nothing of what was going on below them.
Dick carefully chose his place, where the ledge was a few inches wider than usual, and a crevice in the rock gave him something to hold by. Carefully, slowly, he lowered himself till he was sitting on the ledge, with his feet dangling.
He rested a moment. It was a good thing to get that over. Then he began working himself sideways. At the worst place the overhang was so low above the ledge that there was only just room for him to pass. He had to bend so low, sitting as he was, that it seemed as if he must overbalance, fall outwards, and go toppling down. But he did not, and presently the three, waiting above him with the rope, heard his voice coming now from a little to their right.
“Swing it round now . . . Hi! Steady! That’s enough. I’m going on.”
The ledge was now so narrow that he dared not get to his feet again. Above him the cliff seemed everywhere to slope outwards. Below him there was a sheer drop to the screes. Well, it was no good thinking about that. Where that sheep could walk, he could sit. One more corner to get round and he would be close to it. He wriggled along, crabwise, at a steady pace, giving a jerk to the rope every now and then, when the others, invisible above him, flicked it forward along th
e top of the cliff.
Suddenly, just as he came to the corner, the sheep bleated on the other side of it, a sudden, startling noise. Dick was never nearer falling than then. But he pulled himself together and went on, as quietly as he could, fearing now that, if he had been frightened by the sheep, the sheep might be frightened by its rescuer, and, with a last effort, struggle off the ledge and go crashing down.
And then, as he worked himself round that last corner and saw the huddled mass of grey wool only a few yards beyond him, he saw that the sheep was too far gone to move. It lay there, flat to the ledge. It had somehow shrunk away inside its wool, so that it was as if some very little animal, with a big sheep’s head, lay there, covered by a bit of soaked rug.
Dick worked himself close to it.
The sheep bleated and, if it had had the strength, would have flung itself down. But it was as if that small thing under the wet sheepskin shivered a little, no more. It could not stir an inch.
Dick touched the clammy, soaked body.
“It’s probably a good thing it’s so tired,” he said to himself and then, noticing a dull reddish stain on the left fore shoulder of the sheep, he called out, “It’s one of Mr Dixon’s.”
“Is it much farther?” Titty called down.
“I’m touching it. Let out a bit more rope.”
Just for a moment, and against his will, Dick looked down. The drop was not really so very great, but more than enough to break the back of a sheep, or a boy. He felt suddenly a little sick. He looked up at the farther crags, where the buzzards were still wheeling and mewing in the winter sunshine. He considered the sheep once more. The thing had to be done, and he had not wriggled all that way to give up now and come back without doing it. He had to give his rope to the sheep and sit there without a rope at all while the sheep was lowered into the gully. He told himself firmly that the rope was hanging loose anyhow, so that being without it would make no difference. But it is one thing to sit on a narrow ledge when you have a rope round you and three sturdy helpers somewhere above, ready to stand fast and hold on, if by any chance you should slip. It is quite another to sit there knowing that if you slip nothing will stop you till you reach the bottom. The rope had been very slack indeed while he had worked round under the overhang, but it had been there. Now he was to be without it, and at the same time, just sitting on the ledge on the face of the rock, to make the end of it fast round the terrified sheep.
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