If he shot this fellow there would be but one course
left open to him. He would have to shoot himself. And he loved life
too well for that. Five, even ten years behind the bars,--and then
freedom once more. But the gallows,--God, no!
He stood up and leaned with his back against the wall, bracing
his legs which threatened to crumple up under him. With a sort of
craven bravado, he inhaled deeply. The end of the cigarette created
a passing but none the less comforting glow which died away almost
instantly. A jolly brave thing, a cigarette,--No wonder the soldiers
smoked them! Nerve steadying,--no question about it.
He waited. Once he thought he was going to scream. Why was the
fellow so slow? Surely it had not taken him so long to come up
that ladder of stone,--and he was the pioneer, he had cleared the
slots of dirt and sand, he had made the hand holds safe, he had torn
his finger-tips digging them out,--what made the fellow so slow?
At last he made out a vague, slender object moving like the
tentacle of an octopus above the ledge,--and then the bulky head
and shoulders of the climber.
"I surrender!" he called out. "I give up. If you had waited till
I pulled myself together, I would have come down. I'm all in. I
surrender."
The man scrambled over the ledge and drew himself erect. His figure
was dimly outlined against the moon-lit sky.
Pages:
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365