High Citadel

I

Forester attacked his baked beans with gusto. The dawn light was breaking, dimming the bright glare of the Coleman lamp and smoothing out the harsh shadows on his face. He said, ‘One day at the mine — two days crossing the pass — another two days getting help. We must cut that down somehow. When we get to the other side we’ll have to act quickly.’

Peabody looked at the table morosely, ignoring Forester. He was wondering if he had made the right decision, done the right thing by Joe Peabody. The way these guys talked, crossing the mountains wasn’t going to be so easy. Aw, to hell with it — he could do anything any other guy could do — especially any spic.

Rohde said, ‘I thought I heard rifle-fire last night — just at sunset.’ His face was haunted by the knowledge of his helplessness.

‘They should be all right. I don’t see how the commies could have repaired the bridge and got across so quickly,’ said Forester reasonably. ‘That O’Hara’s a smart cookie. He must have been doing something with that drum of kerosene he took down the hill yesterday. He’s probably cooked the bridge to a turn.’

Rohde’s face cracked into a faint smile. ‘I hope so.’

Forester finished his beans. ‘Okay, let’s get the show on the road.’ He turned round in his chair and looked at the huddle of blankets on the bunk. ‘What about Willis?’

‘Let him sleep,’ said Rohde. ‘He worked harder and longer than any of us.’

Forester got up and examined the packs they had made up the previous night. Their equipment was pitifully inadequate for the job they had to do. He remembered the books he had read about mountaineering expeditions — the special rations they had, the lightweight nylon ropes and tents, the wind-proof clothing and the specialized gear — climbing-boots, ice-axes, pitons. He smiled grimly — yes, and porters to help hump it.

There was none of that here. Their packs were roughly cobbled together from blankets; they had an ice-axe which Willis had made — a roughly shaped metal blade mounted on the end of an old broom handle; their ropes were rotten and none too plentiful, scavenged from the rubbish heap of the camp and with too many knots and splices for safety; their climbing-boots were clumsy miners’ boots made of thick, unpliant leather, heavy and graceless. Willis had discovered the boots and Rohde had practically gone into raptures over them.

He lifted his pack and wished it was heavier — heavier with the equipment they needed. They had worked far into the night improvising, with Willis and Rohde being the most inventive. Rohde had torn blankets into long strips to make puttees, and Willis had practically torn down one of the huts single-handed in his search for extra long nails to use as pitons. Rohde shook his head wryly when he saw them. ‘The metal is too soft, but they will have to do.’

Forester heaved the pack on to his back and fastened the crude electric wiring fastenings. Perhaps it’s as well we’re staying a day at the mine, he thought; maybe we can do better than this. There are suitcases up there with proper straps, there is the plane — surely we can find something in there we can use. He zipped up the front of the leather jacket and was grateful to O’Hara for the loan of it. He suspected it would be windy higher up, and the jacket was windproof.

As he stepped out of the hut he heard Peabody cursing at the weight of his pack. He took no notice but strode on through the camp, past the trebuchet which crouched like a prehistoric monster, and so to the road which led up the mountain. In two strides Rohde caught up and came abreast of him. He indicated Peabody trailing behind. ‘This one will make trouble,’ he said.

Forester’s face was suddenly bleak. ‘I meant what I said, Miguel. If he makes trouble, we get rid of him.’

It took them a long time to get up to the mine. The air became very thin and Forester could feel that his heartbeat had accelerated and his heart thumped in his chest like a swinging stone. He breathed faster and was cautioned by Rohde against forced breathing. My God, he thought; what to is it going to be like in the pass?

They reached the airstrip and the mine at midday. Forester felt dizzy and a little nauseated and was glad to reach the first of the deserted huts and to collapse on the floor. Peabody had been left behind long ago; they had ignored his pleas for them to stop and he had straggled farther and farther behind on the trail until he had disappeared from sight. ‘He’ll catch up,’ Forester said. ‘He’s more scared of the commies than he is of me.’ He grinned with savage satisfaction. ‘But I’ll change that before we’re through.’

Rohde was in nearly as bad shape as Forester, although he was more used to the mountains. He sat on the floor of the hut, gasping for breath, too weary to shrug off his pack. They both relaxed for over half an hour before Rohde made any constructive move. At last he fumbled with numb fingers at the fastenings of his pack, and said, ‘We must have warmth; get out the kerosene.’

As Forester undid his pack Rohde took the small axe which had been brought from the Dakota and left the hut. Presently Forester heard him chopping at something in one of the other huts and guessed he had gone for the makings of a fire. He got out the bottle of kerosene and put it aside, ready for when Rohde came back.

An hour later they had a small fire going in the middle of the hut. Rohde had used the minimum of kerosene to start it and small chips of wood built up in a pyramid. Forester chuckled. ‘You must have been a boy scout.’

‘I was,’ said Rohde seriously. ‘That is a fine organization.’ He stretched. ‘Now we must eat.’

‘I don’t feel hungry,’ objected Forester.

‘I know — neither do I. Nevertheless, we must eat.’ Rohde looked out of the window towards the pass. ‘We must fuel ourselves for tomorrow.’

They warmed a can of beans and Forester choked down his share. He had not the slightest desire for food, nor for anything except quietness. His limbs felt flaccid and heavy and he felt incapable of the slightest exertion. His mind was affected, too, and he found it difficult to think clearly and to stick to a single line of thought. He just sat there in a corner of the hut, listlessly munching his lukewarm beans and hating every mouthful.

He said, ‘Christ, I feel terrible.’

‘It is the soroche,’ said Rohde with a shrug. ‘We must expect to feel like this.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘We are not allowing enough time for acclimatization.’

‘It wasn’t as bad as this when we came out of the plane,’ said Forester.

‘We had oxygen,’ Rohde pointed out. ‘And we went down the mountain quickly. You understand that this is dangerous?’

‘Dangerous? I know I feel goddam sick.’

‘There was an American expedition here a few years ago, climbing mountains to the north of here. They went quickly to a level of five thousand metres — about as high as we are now. One of the Americans lost consciousness because of the soroche, and although they had a doctor, he died while being taken down the mountain. Yes, it is dangerous, Señor Forester.’

Forester grinned weakly. ‘In a moment of danger we ought to be on a first-name basis, Miguel. My name is Ray.’

After a while they heard Peabody moving outside. Rohde heaved himself to his feet and went to the door. ‘We are here, señor.’

Peabody stumbled into the hut and collapsed on the floor. ‘You lousy bastards,’ he gasped. ‘Why didn’t you wait?’

Forester grinned at him. ‘We’ll be moving really fast when we leave here,’ he said. ‘Coming up from the camp was like a Sunday morning stroll compared to what’s coming next. We’ll not wait for you then, Peabody.’

‘You son of a bitch. I’ll get even with you,’ Peabody threatened.

Forester laughed. ‘I’ll ram those words down your throat — but not now. There’ll be time enough later.’

Rohde put out a can of beans. ‘You must eat, and we must work. Come, Ray.’

‘I don’t wanna eat,’ moaned Peabody.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Forester. ‘I don’t care if you starve to death.’ He got up and went out of the hut, following Rohde. ‘This loss of appetite — is that soroche, too?’

Rohde nodded. ‘We will eat little from now on — we must live on the reserves of our bodies. A fit man can do it — but that man...? I don’t know if he can do it.’

They walked slowly down the airstrip towards the crashed Dakota. To Forester it seemed incredible that O’Hara had found it too short on which to land because to him it now appeared to be several miles long. He plodded on, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, while the cold air rasped in his throat and his chest heaved with the drudging effort he was making.

They left the airstrip and skirted the cliff over which the plane had plunged. There had been a fresh fall of snow which mantled the broken wings and softened the jagged outlines of the holes torn in the fuselage. Forester looked down over the cliff, and said, ‘I don’t think this can be seen from the air — the snow makes perfect camouflage. If there is an air search I don’t think they’ll find us.’

Walking with difficulty over the broken ground, they climbed to the wreck and got inside through the hole O’Hara had chopped when he and Rohde had retrieved the oxygen cylinder. It was dim and bleak inside the Dakota and Forester shivered, not from the cold which was becoming intense, but from the odd idea that this was the corpse of a once living and vibrant thing. He shook the idea from him, and said, ‘There were some straps on the luggage rack — complete with buckles. We could use those, and O’Hara says there are gloves in the cockpit.’

‘That is good,’ agreed Rohde. ‘I will look towards the front for what I can find.’

Forester went aft and his breath hissed when he saw the body of old Coughlin, a shattered smear of frozen flesh and broken bones on the rear seat. He averted his eyes and turned to the luggage-rack and began to unbuckle the straps. His fingers were numb with the cold and his movements clumsy, but at last he managed to get them free — four broad canvas straps which could be used on the packs. That gave him an idea and he turned his attention to the seat belts, but they were anchored firmly and it was hopeless to try to remove them without tools.

Rohde came aft carrying the first-aid box which he had taken from the bulkhead. He placed it on a seat and opened it, carefully moving his fingers among the jumbled contents. He grunted. ‘Morphine.’

‘Damn,’ said Forester. ‘We could have used that on Mrs Coughlin.’

Rhode held up the shattered end of an ampoule. ‘It would have been no use; they are all broken.’

He put some bandages away in his pocket, then said, ‘This will be useful — aspirin.’ The bottle was cracked, but it still held together and contained a hundred tablets. They both took two tablets and Rohde put the bottle in his pocket. There was nothing more in the first-aid box that was usable.

Forester went into the cockpit. The body of Grivas was there, tumbled into an obscene attitude, and still with the look of deep surprise frozen into the open eyes which were gazing at the shattered instrument panel. Forester moved forward, thinking that there must be something in the wreck of an aircraft that could be salvaged, when he kicked something hard that slid down the inclined floor of the cockpit.

He looked down and saw an automatic pistol.

My God, he thought; we’d forgotten that. It was Grivas’s gun, left behind in the scramble to get out of the Dakota. It would have been of use down by the bridge, he thought, picking it up. But it was too late for that now. The metal was cold in his hand and he stood for a moment, undecided, then he slipped it into his pocket, thinking of Peabody and of what lay on the other side of the pass.

Equipment for well-dressed mountaineers, he thought sardonically; one automatic pistol.

They found nothing more that was of use in the Dakota, so they retraced their steps along the airstrip and back to the hut. Forester took the straps and a small suitcase belonging to Miss Ponsky which had been left behind. From these unlikely ingredients he contrived a serviceable pack which sat on his shoulders more comfortably than the one he had.

Rohde went to look at the mine and Peabody sat slackly in a corner of the hut watching Forester work with lacklustre eyes. He had not eaten his beans, nor had he attempted to keep the fire going. Forester, when he came into the hut, had looked at him with contempt but said nothing. He took the axe and chipped a few shavings from the baulk of wood that Rohde had brought in, and rebuilt the fire.

Rohde came in, stamping the snow from his boots. ‘I have selected a tunnel for O’Hara,’ he said. ‘If the enemy force the bridge then O’Hara must come up here; I think the camp is indefensible.’

Forester nodded, ‘I didn’t think much of it myself,’ he said, remembering how they had ‘assaulted’ the empty camp on the way down the mountain.

‘Most of the tunnels drive straight into the mountain,’ said Rohde. ‘But there is one which has a sharp bend about fifty metres from the entrance. It will give protection against rifle fire.’

‘Let’s have a look at it,’ said Forester.

Rohde led the way to the cliff face behind the huts and pointed out the tunnels. There were six of them driven into the base of the cliff. ‘That is the one,’ he said.

Forester investigated. It was a little over ten feet high and not much wider, just a hole blasted into the hard rock of the mountainside. He walked inside, finding it deepening from gloom to darkness the farther he went. He put his hands before him and found the side wall. As Rohde had said, it bent to the left sharply and, looking back, he saw that the welcome blue sky at the entrance was out of sight.

He went no farther, but turned around and walked back until he saw the bulk of Rohde outlined against the entrance. He was surprised at the relief he felt on coming out into the daylight, and said, ‘Not much of a home from home — it gives me the creeps.’

‘Perhaps that is because men have died there.’

‘Died?’

‘Too many men,’ said Rohde. ‘The government closed the mine — that was when Señor Aguillar was President.’

‘I’m surprised that Lopez didn’t try to coin some money out of it,’ commented Forester.

Rohde shrugged. ‘It would have cost a lot of money to put back into operation. It was uneconomical when it ran — just an experiment in high-altitude mining. I think it would have closed anyway.’

Forester looked around. ‘When O’Hara comes up here he’ll be in a hell of a hurry. What about building him a wall at the entrance here? We can leave a note in the hut telling him which tunnel to take.’

‘That is well thought,’ said Rohde. ‘There are many rocks about.’

‘Three will do better than two,’ said Forester. ‘I’ll roust out Peabody.’ He went back to the hut and found Peabody still in the same corner gazing blankly at the wall. ‘Come on, buster,’ Forester commanded. ‘Rise and shine; we’ve got a job of work on hand.’

Peabody’s eyelids twitched. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said thickly.

Forester stooped, grasped Peabody by the lapels and hauled him to his feet. ‘Now, listen, you crummy bastard; I told you that you’d have to take orders and that you’d have to jump to it. I’ve got a lower boiling-point than Rohde, so you’d better watch it.’

Peabody began to beat at him ineffectually and Forester shoved and slammed him against the wall. ‘I’m sick,’ gasped Peabody. ‘I can’t breathe.’

‘You can walk and you can carry rocks,’ said Forester callously. ‘Whether you breathe or not while you do it is immaterial. Personally, I’ll be goddam glad when you do stop breathing. Now, are you going to leave this hut on your own two feet or do I kick you out?’

Muttering obscenities Peabody staggered to the door. Forester followed him to the tunnel and told him to start gathering rocks and then he pitched to with a will. It was hard physical labour and he had to stop and rest frequently, but he made sure that Peabody kept at it, driving him unmercifully.

They carried the rocks to the tunnel entrance, where Rohde built a rough wall. When they had to stop because of encroaching darkness, they had built little more than a breast-work. Forester sagged to the ground and looked at it through swimming eyes. ‘It’s not much, but it will have to do.’ He beat his arms against his body. ‘God, but it’s cold.’

‘We will go back to the hut,’ said Rohde. ‘There is nothing more we can do here.’

So they went back to the hut, relit the fire and prepared a meal of canned stew. Again, Peabody would not eat, but Rohde and Forester forced themselves, choking over the succulent meat and the rich gravy. Then they turned in for the night.

II

Oddly enough, Forester was not very tired when he got up at dawn and his breathing was much easier. He thought — if we could spend another day here it would be much better. I could look forward to the pass with confidence. Then he rejected the thought — there was no more time.

In the dim light he saw Rohde wrapping strips of blanket puttee-fashion around his legs and silently he began to do the same. Neither of them felt like talking. Once that was done he went across to the huddle in the corner and stirred Peabody gently with his foot.

‘Lemme alone,’ mumbled Peabody indistinctly.

Forester sighed and dropped the tip of his boot into Peabody’s ribs. That did the trick. Peabody sat up cursing and Forester turned away without saying anything.

‘It seems all right,’ said Rohde from the doorway. He was staring up at the mountains.

Forester caught a note of doubt in his voice and went to join him. It was a clear crystal dawn and the peaks, caught by the rising sun, stood out brilliantly against the dark sky behind. Forester said, ‘Anything wrong?’

‘It is very clear,’ said Rohde. Again there was a shadow of doubt in his voice. ‘Perhaps too clear.’

‘Which way do we go?’ asked Forester.

Rohde pointed. ‘Beyond that mountain is the pass. We go round the base of the peak and then over the pass and down the other side. It is this side which will be difficult — the other side is nothing.’

The mountain Rohde had indicated seemed so close in the clear morning air that Forester felt that he could put out his hand and touch it. He sighed with relief. ‘It doesn’t look too bad.’

Rohde snorted. ‘It will be worse than you ever dreamed,’ he said and turned away. ‘We must eat again.’

Peabody refused food again and Forester, after a significant glance from Rohde, said, ‘You’ll eat even if I have to cram the stuff down your gullet. I’ve stood enough nonsense from you, Peabody; you’re not going to louse this up by passing out through lack of food. But I warn you, if you do — if you hold us up for as little as one minute — we’ll leave you.’

Peabody looked at him with venom but took the warmed-up can and began to eat with difficulty. Forester said, ‘How are your boots?’

‘Okay, I guess,’ said Peabody ungraciously.

‘Don’t guess,’ said Forester sharply. ‘I don’t care if they pinch your toes off and cut your feet to pieces — I don’t care if they raise blisters as big as golf balls — I don’t care as far as you’re concerned. But I am concerned about you holding us up. If those boots don’t fit properly, say so now.’

‘They’re all right,’ said Peabody. ‘They fit all right.’

Rohde said, ‘We must go. Get your packs on.’

Forester picked up the suitcase and fastened the straps about his body. He padded the side of the case with the blanket material of his old pack so that it fitted snugly against his back, and he felt very pleased with his ingenuity.

Rohde took the primitive ice-axe and stuck the short axe from the Dakota into his belt. He eased the pack on his back so that it rested comfortably and looked pointedly at Peabody, who scrambled over to the corner where his pack lay. As he did so, something dropped with a clatter to the floor.

It was O’Hara’s flask.

Forester stooped and picked it up, then fixed Peabody with a cold stare. ‘So you’re a goddam thief, too.’

‘I’m not,’ yelled Peabody. ‘O’Hara gave it to me.’

‘O’Hara wouldn’t give you the time of day,’ snarled Forester. He shook the flask and found it empty. ‘You little shit,’ he shouted, and hurled the flask at Peabody. Peabody ducked, but was too late and the flask hit him over the right eye.

Rohde thumped the butt of the ice-axe on the floor. ‘Enough,’ he commanded. ‘This man cannot come with us — we cannot trust him.’

Peabody looked at him in horror, his hand dabbing at his forehead. ‘But you gotta take me,’ he whispered. ‘You gotta. You can’t leave me to those bastards down the mountain.’

Rohde’s lips tightened implacably and Peabody whimpered. Forester took a deep breath and said, ‘If we leave him here he’ll only go back to O’Hara; and he’s sure to balls things up down there.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Rohde. ‘He is likely to kill us on the mountain.’

Forester felt the weight of the gun in his pocket and came to a decision. ‘You’re coming with us, Peabody,’ he said harshly. ‘But one more fast move and you’re a dead duck.’ He turned to Rohde. ‘He won’t hold us up — not for one minute, I promise you.’ He looked Rohde in the eye and Rohde nodded with understanding.

‘Get your pack on, Peabody,’ said Forester. ‘And get out of that door on the double.’

Peabody lurched away from the wall and seemed to cringe as he picked up his pack. He scuttled across the hut, running wide of Forester, and bolted through the door. Forester pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket. ‘I’ll leave a note for Tim, telling him of the right tunnel. Then we’ll go.’

III

It was comparatively easy at first, at least to Forester’s later recollection. Although they had left the road and were striking across the mountainside, they made good time. Rohde was in the lead with Peabody following and Forester at the rear, ready to flail Peabody if he lagged. But to begin with there was no need for that; Peabody walked as though he had the devil at his heels.

At first the snow was shallow, dry and powdery, but then it began to get deeper, with a hard crust on top. It was then that Rohde stopped. ‘We must use the ropes.’

They got out their pitiful lengths of rotten rope and Rohde carefully tested every knot. Then they tied themselves together, still in the same order, and carried on. Forester looked up at the steep white slope which seemed to stretch unendingly to the sky and thought that Rohde had been right — this wasn’t going to be easy.

They plodded on, Rohde as trailbreaker and the other two thankful that he had broken a path for them in the thickening snow. The slope they were crossing was steep and swept dizzyingly below them and Forester found himself wondering what would happen if one of them fell. It was likely that he would drag down the other two and they would all slide, a tangled string of men and ropes, down the thousands of feet to the sharp rocks below.

Then he shook himself irritably. It wouldn’t be like that at all. That was the reason for the ropes, so that a man’s fall could be arrested.

From ahead he heard a rumble like thunder and Rohde paused. ‘What is it?’ shouted Forester.

‘Avalanche,’ replied Rohde. He said no more and resumed his even pace.

My God, thought Forester; I hadn’t thought of avalanches. This could be goddam dangerous. Then he laughed to himself. He was in no more danger than O’Hara and the others down by the bridge — possibly less. His mind played about with the relativity of things and presently he was not thinking at all, just putting one foot in front of the other with mindless precision, an automaton toiling across the vast white expanse of snow like an ant crawling across a bed sheet.

He was jolted into consciousness by stumbling over Peabody, who lay sprawled in the snow, panting stertorously, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. ‘Get up, Peabody,’ he mumbled. ‘I told you what would happen if you held us up. Get up, damn you.’

‘Rohde’s... Rohde’s stopped,’ panted Peabody.

Forester looked up and squinted against a vast dazzle. Specks danced in front of his eyes and coalesced into a vague shape moving towards him. ‘I am sorry,’ said Rohde, unexpectedly closely. ‘I am a fool. I forgot this.’

Forester rubbed his eyes. I’m going blind, he thought in an access of terror; I’m losing my sight.

‘Relax,’ said Rohde. ‘Close your eyes; rest them.’

Forester sank into the snow and closed his eyes. It felt as though there were hundreds of grains of sand beneath the lids and he felt the cold touch of tears on his cheeks. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Ice glare,’ said Rohde. ‘Don’t worry; it will be all right. Just keep your eyes closed for a few minutes.’

He kept his eyes closed and gradually felt his muscles lose tension and he was grateful for this pause. He felt tired — more tired than he had ever felt in his life — and he wondered how far they had come. ‘How far have we come?’ he asked.

‘Not far,’ said Rohde.

‘What time is it?’

There was a pause, then Rohde said, ‘Nine o’clock.’

Forester was shocked. ‘Is that all?’ He felt as though he had been walking all day.

‘I’m going to rub something on your eyes,’ said Rohde, and Forester felt cold fingers massaging his eyelids with a substance at once soft and gritty.

‘What is it, Miguel?’

‘Wood ash. It is black — it will cut the glare, I think. I have heard it is an old Eskimo practice; I hope it will work.’

After a while Forester ventured to open his eyes. To his relief he could see, not as well as he could normally, but he was not as blind as during that first shocking moment when he thought he had lost his sight. He looked over to where Rohde was ministering to Peabody and thought — yes, that’s another thing mountaineers have — dark glasses. He blinked painfully.

Rohde turned and Forester burst out laughing at the sight of him. He had a broad, black streak across his eyes and looked like a Red Indian painted to go on the warpath. Rohde smiled. ‘You too look funny, Ray,’ he said. Then more soberly, ‘Wrap a blanket round your head like a hood, so that it cuts out some of the glare from the side.’ Forester unfastened his pack and regretfully tore out the blanket from the side of the case. His pack would not be so comfortable from now on. The blanket provided enough material to make hoods for the three of them, and then Rohde said, ‘We must go on.’

Forester looked back. He could still see the huts and estimated that they had not gained more than five hundred feet of altitude although they had come a considerable distance. Then the rope tugged at his waist and he stepped out, following the stumbling figure of Peabody.

It was midday when they rounded the shoulder of the mountain and were able to see their way to the pass. Forester sank to his knees and sobbed with exhaustion and Peabody dropped in his tracks as though knocked on the head. Only Rohde remained on his feet, staring up towards the pass, squinting with sore eyes. ‘It is as I remembered it,’ he said. ‘We will rest here.’

Ignoring Peabody, he squatted beside Forester. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m a bit bushed,’ said Forester, ‘but a rest will make a lot of difference.’

Rohde took off his pack and unfastened it. ‘We will eat now.’

‘My God, I couldn’t,’ said Forester.

‘You will be able to stomach this,’ said Rohde, and produced a can of fruit. ‘It is sweet for energy.’

There was a cold wind sweeping across the mountainside and Forester pulled the jacket round him as he watched Rohde dig into the snow. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Making a windbreak.’ He took a Primus stove and put it into the hole he had dug where it was sheltered from the wind. He lit it, then handed an empty bean can to Forester. ‘Fill that with snow and melt it; we must drink something hot. I will see to Peabody.’

At the low atmospheric pressure the snow took a long time to melt and the resulting water was merely tepid. Rohde dropped a bouillon cube into it, and said, ‘You first.’

Forester gagged as he drank it, and then filled the can with snow again. Peabody had revived and took the next canful, then Forester melted more snow for Rohde. ‘I haven’t looked up the pass,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’

Rohde looked up from the can of fruit he was opening. ‘Bad,’ he said. ‘But I expected that.’ He paused. ‘There is a glacier with many crevasses.’

Forester took the proffered can silently and began to eat. He found the fruit acceptable to his taste and his stomach — it was the first food he had enjoyed since the plane crash and it put new life into him. He looked back; the mine was out of sight, but far away he could see the river gorge, many thousands of feet below. He could not see the bridge.

He got to his feet and trudged forward to where he could see the pass. Immediately below was the glacier, a jumble of ice blocks and a maze of crevasses. It ended perhaps three thousand feet lower and he could see the blue waters of a mountain lake. As he looked he heard a whip-crack as of a stroke of lightning and the mutter of distant thunder and saw a plume of white leap up from the blue of the lake.

Rohde spoke from behind him. ‘That is a laguna,’ he said. ‘The glaciers are slowly retreating here and there is always a lake between the glacier and the moraine. But that is of no interest to us; we must go there.’ He pointed across the glacier and swept his arm upwards.

Across the valley of the pass white smoke appeared suddenly on the mountainside and a good ten seconds afterwards came a low rumble. ‘There is always movement in the mountains,’ said Rohde. ‘The ice works on the rock and there are many avalanches.’

Forester looked up. ‘How much higher do we have to climb?’

‘About five hundred metres — but first we must go down a little to cross the glacier.’

‘I don’t suppose we could go round it,’ said Forester.

Rohde pointed downwards towards the lake. ‘We would lose a thousand metres of altitude and that would mean another night on the mountain. Two nights up here would kill us.’

Forester regarded the glacier with distaste; he did not like what he saw and for the first time a cold knot of fear formed in his belly. So far there had been nothing but exhausting work, the labour of pushing through thick snow in bad and unaccustomed conditions. But here he was confronted with danger itself — the danger of the toppling ice block warmed to the point of insecurity by the sun, the trap of the snow-covered crevasse. Even as he watched he saw a movement on the glacier, a sudden alteration of the scene, and he heard a dull rumble.

Rohde said, ‘We will go now.’

They went back to get their packs. Peabody was sitting in the snow, gazing apathetically at his hands folded in his lap. Forester said, ‘Come on, man; get your pack on,’ but Peabody did not stir. Forester sighed regretfully and kicked him in the side, not too violently. Peabody seemed to react only to physical stimuli, to threats of violence.

Obediently he got up and put on his pack and Rohde refastened the rope about him, careful to see that all was secure. Then they went on in the same order. First the more experienced Rohde, then Peabody, and finally Forester.

The climb down to the glacier — a matter of about two hundred feet — was a nightmare to Forester, although it did not seem to trouble Rohde and Peabody was lost in the daze of his own devising and was oblivious of the danger. Here the rock was bare of snow, blown clean by the strong wind which swept down the pass. But it was rotten and covered with a slick layer of ice, so that any movement at all was dangerous. Forester cursed as his feet slithered on the ice; we should have spikes, he thought; this is madness.

It took an hour to descend to the glacier, the last forty feet by what Rohde called an abseil. There was a vertical ice-covered cliff and Rohde showed them what to do. He hammered four of their makeshift pitons into the rotten rock and looped the rope through them. They went down in reverse order, Forester first, with Rohde belaying the rope. He showed Forester how to loop the rope round his body so that he was almost sitting in it, and how to check his descent if he went too fast.

‘Try to keep facing the cliff,’ he said. ‘Then you can use your feet to keep clear — and try not to get into a spin.’

Forester was heartily glad when he reached the bottom — this was not his idea of fun. He made up his mind that he would spend his next vacation as far from mountains as he could, preferably in the middle of Kansas.

Then Peabody came down, mechanically following Rohde’s instructions. He had no trace of fear about him — his face was as blank as his mind and all fear had been drained out of him long before, together with everything else. He was an automaton who did precisely what he was told.

Rohde came last with no one to guard the rope above him. He dropped heavily the last ten feet as the pitons gave way one after the other in rapid succession and the rope dropped in coils about his prostrate body. Forester helped him to his feet. ‘Are you okay?’

Rohde swayed. ‘I’m all right,’ he gasped. ‘The pitons — find the pitons.’

Forester searched about in the snow and found three of the pitons; he could not find the fourth. Rohde smiled grimly. ‘It is as well I fell,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we would have had to leave the pitons up there, and I think we will need them later. But we must keep clear of rock; the verglas — the ice on the rock — is too much for us without crampons.’

Forester agreed with him from the bottom of his heart, although he did not say so aloud. He recoiled the rope and made one end fast about his waist while Rohde attended to Peabody. Then he looked at the glacier.

It was as fantastic as a lunar landscape — and as dead and removed from humanity. The pressures from below had squeezed up great masses of ice which the wind and the sun had carved into grotesque shapes, all now mantled with thick snow. There were great cliffs with dangerous overhanging columns which threatened to topple, and there were crevasses, some open to the sky and some, as Forester knew, treacherously covered with snow. Through this wilderness, this maze of ice, they had to find their way.

Forester said, ‘How far to the other side?’

Rohde reflected. ‘Three-quarters of one of your North American miles.’ He took the ice-axe firmly in his hand. ‘Let us move — time is going fast.’

He led the way, testing every foot with the butt of the ice-axe. Forester noticed that he had shortened the intervals between the members of the party and had doubled the ropes, and he did not like the implication. The three of them were now quite close together and Rohde kept urging Peabody to move faster as he felt the drag on the rope when Peabody lagged. Forester stooped and picked up some snow; it was powdery and did not make a good snowball, but every time Peabody dragged on Rohde’s rope he pelted him with snow.

The way was tortuous and more than once Rohde led them into a dead end, the way blocked by vertical ice walls or wide crevasses, and they would have to retrace their steps and hunt for a better way. Once, when they were seemingly entrapped in a maze of ice passages, Forester totally lost his sense of direction and wondered hopelessly if they would be condemned to wander for ever in this cold hell.

His feet were numb and he had no feeling in his toes. He mentioned this to Rohde, who stopped immediately. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Take off your boots.’

Forester stripped the puttees from his legs and tried to untie his bootlaces with stiff fingers. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to complete this simple task. The laces were stiffened with ice, his fingers were cold, and his mind did not seem able to control the actions of his body. At last he got his boots off and stripped off the two pairs of socks he wore.

Rohde closely examined his toes and said, ‘You have the beginning of frostbite. Rub your left foot — I’ll rub the right.’

Forester rubbed away violently. His big toe was bonewhite at the tip and had a complete lack of sensation. Rohde was merciless in his rubbing; he ignored Forester’s yelp of anguish as the circulation returned to his foot and continued to massage with vigorous movements.

Forester’s feet seemed to be on fire as the blood forced its way into the frozen flesh and he moaned with the pain. Rohde said sternly, ‘You must not let this happen. You must work your toes all the time — imagine you are playing a piano with your feet — your toes. Let me see your fingers.’

Forester held out his hands and Rohde inspected them. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you must watch for this. Your toes, your fingers and the tips of your ears and the nose. Keep rubbing them.’ He turned to where Peabody was sitting slackly. ‘And what about him?’

With difficulty Forester thrust his feet into his frozen boots, retied the laces and wrapped the puttees round his legs. Then he helped Rohde to take off Peabody’s boots. Handling him was like handling a dummy — he neither hindered nor helped, letting his limbs be moved flaccidly.

His toes were badly frostbitten and they began to massage his feet. After working on him for ten minutes he suddenly moaned and Forester looked up to see a glimmer of intelligence steal into the dead eyes. ‘Hell!’ Peabody protested. ‘You’re hurting me.’

They took no notice of him and continued to work away. Suddenly Peabody screamed and began to thrash about, and Forester grabbed his arms. ‘Be sensible, man,’ he shouted. He looked up at Peabody. ‘Keep moving your toes. Move them all the time in your boots.’

Peabody was moaning with pain but it seemed to have the effect of bringing him out of his private dream. He was able to put on his own socks and boots and wrap the puttees round his legs, and all the time he swore in a dull monotone, uttering a string of obscenities directed against the mountains, against Rohde and Forester for being uncaring brutes, and against the fates in general for having got him into this mess.

Forester looked across at Rohde and grinned faintly, and Rohde picked up the ice-axe and said, ‘We must move — we must get out of here.’

Somewhere in the middle of the glacier Rohde, after casting fruitlessly in several directions, led them to a crevasse and said, ‘Here we must cross — there is no other way.’

There was a snow bridge across the crevasse, a frail span connecting the two sides. Forester went to the edge and looked down into the dim green depths. He could not see the bottom.

Rohde said, ‘The snow will bear our weight if we go over lying flat so that the weight is spread.’ He tapped Forester on the shoulder. ‘You go first.’

Peabody said suddenly, ‘I’m not going across there. You think I’m crazy?’

Forester had intended to say the same but the fact that a man like Peabody had said it put some spirit into him. He said harshly — and the harshness was directed at himself for his moment of weakness—’Do as you’re damn well told.’

Rohde re-roped them so that the line would be long enough to stretch across the crevasse, which was about fifteen feet wide, and Forester approached cautiously. ‘Not on hands and knees,’ said Rohde. ‘Lie flat and wriggle across with your arms and legs spread out.’

With trepidation Forester lay down by the edge of the crevasse and wriggled forward on to the bridge. It was only six feet wide and, as he went forward on his belly in the way he had been taught during his army training, he saw the snow crumble from the edge of the bridge to fall with a soft sigh into the abyss.

He was very thankful for the rope which trailed behind him, even though he knew it was probably not strong enough to withstand a sudden jerk, and it was with deep thankfulness that he gained the other side to lie gasping in the snow, beads of sweat trickling into his eyes.

After a long moment he stood up and turned. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rohde.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, and wiped the sweat from his forehead before it froze.

‘To hell with this,’ shouted Peabody. ‘You’re not going to get me on that thing.’

‘You’ll be roped from both sides,’ said Forester. ‘You can’t possibly fall — isn’t that right, Miguel?’

‘That is so,’ said Rohde.

Peabody had a hunted look about him. Forester said, ‘Oh, to hell with him. Come across, Miguel, and leave the stupid bastard.’

Peabody’s voice cracked. ‘You can’t leave me here,’ he screamed.

‘Can’t we?’ asked Forester callously. ‘I told you what would happen if you held us up.’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ said Peabody tearfully, and approached the snow bridge slowly.

‘Get down,’ said Rohde abruptly.

‘On your belly,’ called Forester.

Peabody lay down and began to inch his way across. He was shaking violently and twice he stopped as he heard snow swish into the crevasse from the crumbling edge of the bridge. As he approached Forester he began to wriggle along faster and Forester became intent on keeping the rope taut, as did Rohde, paying out as Peabody moved away from him.

Suddenly Peabody lost his nerve and got up on to his hands and knees and scrambled towards the end of the bridge. ‘Get down, you goddam fool,’ Forester yelled.

Suddenly he was enveloped in a cloud of snow dust and Peabody cannoned into him, knocking him flat. There was a roar as the bridge collapsed into the crevasse in a series of diminishing echoes, and when Forester got to his feet he looked across through the swirling fog of powdery snow and saw Rohde standing helplessly on the other side.

He turned and grabbed Peabody, who was clutching at the snow in an ecstasy of delight at being on firm ground. Hauling him to his feet, Forester hit him with his open palm in a vicious double slap across the face. ‘You selfish bastard,’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you ever do anything right?’

Peabody’s head lolled on his shoulders and there was a vacant look in his eyes. When Forester let him go he dropped to the ground, muttering incomprehensibly, and grovelled at Forester’s feet. Forester kicked him for good measure and turned to Rohde. ‘What the hell do we do now?’

Rohde seemed unperturbed. He hefted the ice-axe like a spear and said, ‘Stand aside.’ Then he threw it and it stuck into the snow in front of Forester. ‘I think I can swing across,’ he said. ‘Hammer the axe into the snow as deep as you can.’

Forester felt the rope at his waist. ‘This stuff isn’t too strong, you know. It won’t bear much weight.’

Rohde measured the gap with his eye. ‘I think there is enough to make a triple strand,’ he said. ‘That should take my weight.’

‘It’s your neck,’ said Forester, and began to beat the ice-axe into the snow. But he knew that all their lives were at stake. He did not have the experience to make the rest of the trip alone — his chances were still less if he was hampered by Peabody. He doubted if he could find his way out of the glacier safely.

He hammered the axe into the snow and ice for three-quarters of its length and tugged at it to make sure it was firm. Then he turned to Peabody, who was sobbing and drooling into the snow and stripped the rope from him. He tossed the ends across to Rohde who tied them round his waist and sat on the edge of the crevasse, looking into the depths between his knees and appearing as unconcerned as though he was sitting in an armchair.

Forester fastened the triple rope to the ice-axe and belayed a loop around his body, kicking grooves in the snow for his heels. ‘I’ve taken as much of the strain as I can,’ he called.

Rohde tugged on the taut rope experimentally, and seemed satisfied. He paused. ‘Put something between the rope and the edge to stop any chafing.’ So Forester stripped off his hood and wadded it into a pad, jamming it between the rope and the icy edge of the crevasse.

Rohde tugged again and measured his probable point of impact fifteen feet down on the farther wall of the crevasse.

Then he launched himself into space.

Forester saw him disappear and felt the sudden strain on the rope, then heard the clash of Rohde’s boots on the ice wall beneath. Thankfully he saw that there was no sudden easing of the tension on the rope and knew that Rohde had made it. All that remained now was for him to climb up.

It seemed an age before Rohde’s head appeared above the edge and Forester went forward to haul him up. This is one hell of a man, he thought; this is one hell of a good joe. Rohde sat down not far from the edge and wiped the sweat from his face. ‘That was not a good thing to do,’ he said.

Forester cocked his head at Peabody. ‘What do we do about him? He’ll kill us all yet.’ He took the gun from his pocket and Rohde’s eyes widened. ‘I think this is the end of the trail for Peabody.’

Peabody lay in the snow muttering to himself and Forester spoke as though he were not there, and it is doubtful if Peabody heard what was being said about him.

Rohde looked Forester in the eye. ‘Can you shoot a defenceless man — even him?’

‘You’re damned right I can,’ snapped Forester. ‘We don’t have only our own lives to think of — there are the others down at the bridge depending on us; this crazy fool will let us all down.’

He lifted the pistol and aimed at the back of Peabody’s head. He was just taking up the slack on the trigger when his wrist was caught by Rohde. ‘No, Ray; you are not a murderer.’

Forester tensed the muscles of his arm and fought Rohde’s grip for a moment, then relaxed, and said, ‘Okay, Miguel; but you’ll see I’m right. He’s selfish and he’ll never do anything right — but I guess we’re stuck with him.’

IV

Altogether it took them three hours to cross the glacier and by then Forester was exhausted, but Rohde would allow no rest. ‘We must get as high as we can while there is still light,’ he said. ‘Tonight will weaken us very much — it is not good to spend a night in the open without a tent or the right kind of clothing.’

Forester managed a grin. Everything to Rohde was either good or not good; black and white with no shades of grey. He kicked Peabody to his feet and said tiredly, ‘Okay; lead on, MacDuff.’

Rohde looked up at the pass. ‘We lost height in crossing the glacier; we still have to ascend between five and six hundred metres to get to the top.’

Sixteen hundred to two thousand feet, Forester translated silently. He followed Rohde’s gaze. To their left was the glacier, oozing imperceptibly down the mountain and scraping itself by a rock wall. Above, the clean sweep of snow was broken by a line of cliffs halfway up to the top of the pass. ‘Do we have to climb that?’ he demanded.

Rohde scrutinized the terrain carefully, then shook his head. ‘I think we can go by the cliffs there — on the extreme right. That will bring us on top of the cliffs. We will bivouac there tonight.’

He put his hand in his pocket and produced the small leather bag of coca quids he had compounded back in the camp. ‘Hold out your hand,’ he said. ‘You will need these now.’

He shook a dozen of the green squares into Forester’s palm and Forester put one into his mouth and chewed it. It had an acrid and pungent taste which pleasantly warmed the inside of his mouth. ‘Not too many,’ warned Rohde. ‘Or your mouth will become inflamed.’

It was useless giving them to Peabody. He had relapsed into his state of automatism and followed Rohde like a dog on a lead, obedient to the tugs on the rope. As Rohde set out on the long climb up to the cliffs he followed, mechanically going through the proper climbing movements as though guided by something outside himself. Forester, watching him from behind, hoped there would be no crisis; as long as things went well Peabody would be all right, but in an emergency he would certainly break, as O’Hara had prophesied.

He did not remember much of that long and toilsome climb. Perhaps the coca contributed to that, for he found himself in much the same state as he imagined Peabody to be in. Rhythmically chewing the quid, he climbed automatically, following the trail broken by the indefatigable Rohde.

At first the snow was thick and crusted, and then, as they approached the extreme right of the line of cliffs, the slope steepened and the snow cover became thinner and they found that under it was a sheet of ice. Climbing in these conditions without crampons was difficult, and, as Rohde confessed a little time afterwards, would have been considered impossible by anyone who knew the mountains.

It took them two hours to get above the rock cliffs and to meet a great disappointment. Above the cliffs and set a few feet back was a continuous ice wall over twenty feet high, surmounted by an overhanging snow cornice. The wall stretched across the width of the pass in an unbroken line.

Forester, gasping for breath in the thin air, looked at it in dismay. We’ve had it, he thought; how can we get over this? But Rohde, gazing across the pass, did not lose hope. He pointed. ‘I think the ice wall is lower there in the middle. Come, but stay away from the edge of the cliff.’

They started out along the ledge between the ice wall and the edge of the cliff. At first the ledge was narrow, only a matter of feet, but as they went on it became broader and Rohde advanced more confidently and faster. But he seemed worried. ‘We cannot stay here,’ he said. ‘It is very dangerous. We must get above this wall before nightfall.’

‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Forester. ‘If we stay here, the wall will shelter us from the wind — it’s from the west and I think it’s rising.’

‘It is,’ replied Rohde. He pointed upwards. ‘That is what I worry about — the cornice. We cannot stay below it — it might break away — and the wind in the west will build it to breaking-point. It is going to snow — look down.’

Forester looked into the dizzying depths below the cliffs and saw a gathering greyness of mist. He shivered and retreated to safety, then followed the shambling figure of Peabody.

It was not five minutes later when he felt his feet suddenly slide on the ice. Frantically he tried to recover his balance but to no effect, and he found himself on his back, swooping towards the edge of the cliff. He tried to brake himself with his hands and momentarily saw the smear of blood on the ice as, with a despairing cry, he went over the edge.

Rohde, hearing the cry and feeling the tug of Peabody on the rope, automatically dug the ice-axe firmly into the ice and took the strain. When he turned his head he saw only Peabody scrabbling at the edge of the cliff, desperately trying to prevent himself from being pulled off. He was screaming incoherently, and of Forester there was no sign.

Forester found the world wheeling crazily before his eyes, first a vast expanse of sky and a sudden vista of valleys and mountains half obscured by wreaths of mist, then the grey rock close by as he spun and dangled on the end of the rope, suspended over a sheer drop of three hundred feet on to the steep snow slopes beneath. His chest hurt and he found that the rope had worked itself under his armpits and was constricting his ribs. From above he heard the terrified yammerings of Peabody.

With a heave Rohde cracked the muscles of his back and hoped the rotten rope would not break. He yelled to Peabody, ‘Pull on the rope — get him up.’ Instead he saw the flash of steel and saw that Peabody had a clasp-knife and was sawing at the rope where it went over the edge of the cliff.

Rohde did not hesitate. His hand went to his side and found the small axe they had taken from the Dakota. He drew it from his belt, reversing it quickly so that he held it by the handle. He lifted it, poised, for a second, judging his aim, and then hurled it at Peabody’s head.

It struck Peabody squarely on the nape of the neck, splitting his skull. The terrified yelping stopped and from below Forester was aware of the startling silence and looked up. A knife dropped over the edge of the cliff and the blade cut a gash in his cheek before it went spinning into the abyss below, and a steady drip of blood rained on him from above.