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THE CONQUEST OF MOUNT COOK

was steep, and a week of burning sun had left it in a most treacherous condition; it was ready to avalanche at any moment. I rolled a stone on to it, and with a hiss a great piece of the slope slid away, gathering fresh snow every minute. We spent rather an uncomfortable time traversing this couloir, and would have gladly left it alone had any other way been practicable. Every time Graham took a step I waited with my heart in my mouth for the slope to slip away with us. Twice we heard the warning hiss, and small avalanches swept down on either side of us, leaving a deep groove in the snow from top to bottom, but fortunately nothing happened to us. I had no faintest desire to be rolled in a gigantic snowball for a thousand feet, and probably smothered in the process. We breathed a distinct sigh of relief when our feet touched solid rock on the other side. We pressed steadily up, and only encountered one more nasty place. This was a rounded projecting buttress of rock, very smooth and scant of hand- and foot-hold, and our rope was not long enough for Graham to reach a thoroughly safe position. I was none too secure myself, and quite helpless to stop him if he slipped. I clung with my face turned to the rock, my feet on a ledge, and my hands stuck in a crack above my head, for what seemed an eternity and was really about seven minutes, while he tried hold after hold, and at last let go with his feet and swung himself round, his whole weight resting on his arms, and worked himself along with his hands in a crack until he was round the obstacle and lost to view. In a moment he called to me to come on, and not put more trust in the rope than I could help, as he could not get into a good position until I moved and gave him a little more length. I made several attempts, but the thought of swinging in space over a snow slope that would avalanche if a pebble hit it was too much for me. I managed to give him the extra rope he needed, and then announced I was coming over the buttress instead