At last his bleeding hands clutched the upper ridge, more than two feet deep with snow, and he hung over this rock-face with the anguish of a crucified criminal; one more great effort was all that was wanted to complete his sacrifice for his comrades, and then they could come up with some degree of comfort.
The effort had to be made, yet it was a mighty one, and he was weary and faint. Biting his fleshy lower lip almost through, he raised himself by his arms alone, feeling for a while vainly with his broken toes for a crevice, and holding himself up while he did so.
Under the snow he plunges his hand for the next grip, as he rests his weight on the curled toes of one foot. This is the hardest end of his task, for the upper surface is flat and smooth, yet, at last, he meets an undulation, rather than a crack, and clutches it. Then he draws up his knee to his breast, and feels with his other foot for a hold. His other hand he spreads out under the snow, and after groping for a while, finds a ridge. He is over, and on the top amongst the snow, blind and dazed with the white glister; but his task is not yet done, for he must find something to fasten his rope to.
Snow and rocks are all round hi no, and not a tree or shrub within reach, and where he lies it is rugged and barren.
He cannot look beyond his own immediate vicinity, for the icy blast is blowing like a hurricane on this exposed place, cutting his burning eyeballs like knives, so that it takes all his strength to keep from being blown over the precipice, where he lies on his stomach, clearing the snow with his hands, while he feels for a projection.
He has got it at last—just enough to fasten securely
