Smoke felt the rope tauten in a futile effort, then the pace quickened, and as he went past his previous lodgment and over the bulge the last glimpse he caught of Carson he was turned over, with madly moving hands and feet striving to overcome the downward draw. To Smoke's surprise, as he went over the bulge, there was no sheer fall. The rope restrained him as he slid down a steeper pitch, which quickly eased until he came to a halt in another niche on the verge of another bulge. Carson was now out of sight, ensconced in the place previously occupied by Smoke. “Gee!” he could hear Carson shiver. “Gee!” An interval of quiet followed, and then Smoke could feel the rope agitated. “What are you doing?” he called up. “Making more hand- and foot-holds,” came the trembling answer. “You just wait. I'll have you up here in a jiffy. Don't mind the way I talk. I'm just excited. But I'm all right. You wait and see.” “You're holding me by main strength,” Smoke argued. “Soon or late, with the ice melting, you'll slip down after me. The thing for you to do is to cut loose. Hear me! There's no use both of us going. Get that? You're the biggest little man in creation, but you've done your best. You cut loose.” “You shut up. I'm going to make holes this time deep enough to haul up a span of horses.” “You've held me up long enough,” Smoke urged. “Let me go.” “How many times have I held you up?” came the truculent query. “Some several, and all of them too many. You've been coming down all the time.” “And I've been learning the game all the time. I'm going on holding you up until we get out of here. Savvy? When God made me a light-weight I guess he knew what he was about. Now, shut up. I'm busy.” Several silent minutes passed. Smoke could hear the metallic strike and hack of the knife and occasional driblets of ice slid over the bulge and came down to him. Thirsty, clinging on hand and foot, he caught the fragments in his mouth and melted them to water, which he swallowed. He heard a gasp that slid into a groan of despair, and felt a slackening of the rope that made him claw. Immediately the rope tightened again. Straining his eyes in an upward look along the steep slope, he stared a moment, then saw the knife, point first, slide over the verge of the bulge and down upon him. He tucked his cheek to it, shrank from the pang of cut flesh, tucked more tightly, and felt the knife come to rest. “I'm a slob,” came the wail down the crevasse. “Cheer up, I've got it,” Smoke answered. “Say! Wait! I've a lot of string in my pocket. I'll drop it down to you, and you send the knife up.” Smoke made no reply. He was battling with a sudden rush of thought. “Hey! You! Here comes the string. Tell me when you've got it.”