the two – in Venables the spirit had to fight the flesh; and he could only preserve a semblance of composure by manfully diverting his thoughts and turning his eyes away from the abyss. As for Leslie, without prying into his innermost secrets, it may be said that he could look dangers of all kinds calmly in the face. At least he gazed with less of apprehension than curiosity into the depths of the yawning chasm beneath; and before he had well exchanged a hand-shake with Venables, he was planning how they might retrace their steps. He knew he had never been so near to death, for he saw that the little gravel-platform on which they stood was already crumbling and yielding beneath their united weight. He knew there was no time to send the slow and stupid Peter to fetch help. They must save themselves, and that promptly, if they were to be saved at all. Venables was looking to him for support, encouragement, and guidance. So he proved himself true to his practical good sense – drew the whisky-flask from his pocket, and passed it to his friend.
"That's right, old fellow; take another little pull," as he watched the light come back to the eye and the colour to the cheek. "There, that will do. Wait till we are on the firm ground again before you mend your draught."
The cool promise of immediate safety did as much to restore Jack Venables's confidence as the inspiriting influences of the flask. For a few moments, at all events, he was himself again, and Leslie saw it was neck or nothing. Stooping, with infinite presence of mind and a swift sweep of his pocket-knife he cut the beard from the shaggy billy-goat.
"We won't bother about the horns," he observed, "but we must not go back without your trophy." And that very simple remark screwed the courage of Venables to the sticking-point. It was he who gave the lead over the gap, lightly bounding up upon the ground that gave way beneath him, and so with half-a-dozen successive springs placing himself in relative safety. And then he forgot all the danger that remained, in the moments of agony that the danger of his saviour caused him. There seemed a more formidable leap than ever to be made, and Leslie had little of the lightness and élan which had landed Venables in comparative security. For a second or so, it appeared that he had given himself up. He stood as his friend had left him, and covered his eyes with his hand. Then he essayed to cross, but in a very different fashion. If he had been setting his feet on the flags of a London pavement, he could not have trod more firmly, though the foothold in each instance was some scarcely perceptible niche in the hill-face. Will the feet support his fourteen stone, or will they not? Venables's heart almost ceased to beat, though Leslie appeared to be as composed as ever; and in another moment, in an unaffected burst of emotional gratitude, he had clasped his recovered friend in his arms. Had Leslie literally come back from the dead, he could hardly have been more warmly welcomed.
