thankfulness he negotiated the last fifteen or twenty feet and dropped carefully to the ledge beside his cousin.
"Oh, Danny," Larry almost sobbed, "I never was so glad to see anyone in my life. Joe's hurt awfully bad!"
"Where is he?"
"Down on the ledge just below us," Larry managed to say, his hand trembling as he pointed. "He fell twenty feet or so, and he's hurt awfully bad."
Danny could just make out Joe's figure, slumped in a heap on still another ledge below them. "Joe!" he called loudly.
In a moment the injured boy answered him, the words muffled and indistinct above the wind.
"We'll be right down!" Danny shouted.
By that time Glen, who had done a great deal of climbing in the mountains, had made his way down the slick rocks to the ledge where Danny and Larry were crouched.
"We've got to do something!" Glen exclaimed. "It's getting colder and darker every minute."
"That wrecked plane isn't over half a mile away," Larry said. "If...if we could get over there, we might be able to send for help on the radio."
"If the radio is still working," Danny said.
"I'll go down and cover Joe up and make him as comfortable as I can," Glen said, untying the rope from about his waist. "You two go over to the plane and try to make that radio work."
"I don't know whether or not I can," Larry gritted. "I guess I got scared after Joe fell and tried to climb the cliff fast. I slipped and hurt my ankle. I don't think I can walk on it."
"But you've got to!" Danny retorted. "You're the only one who can run that radio. Come on, I'll help you!"
Danny couldn't remember how he made the climb in the gathering darkness. There didn't seem to be anything to cling to, nor any holds for his feet. But somehow he inched upward. Now and again he felt the snow and loose rock give way beneath his feet, or felt the rock he grasped come out of the wall in his hands. But he kept moving slowly and uncertainly until he felt his fingers reach over the top of the cliff.
In another moment he scrambled to the ledge and braced himself for Larry to start climbing. His cousin moved slowly, haltingly, leaning so heavily against the rope that it was all the young woodsman could do to hold him. But finally Larry too reached the safety of the trail.
"I...I never thought I'd make it," he panted, sprawling exhausted on the rocks.
"We've got to get to that radio," Danny told him a moment or two later.
"Just a minute, Danny." There was a strange tone in the other's voice. "Before we go, I want to tell you that I'm sorry for the bad time I gave you."
"That's all right, Larry," Danny replied. "Only I wish you'd take Christ as your Saviour now. He's the answer, Larry. Believe me."
"We'd better go and get some help first," his cousin said, changing the subject quickly. "I'll take Christ as my Saviour one of these days."
With that he got to his feet and began to hobble along the trail. Danny grasped his arm and pulled it over his own strong shoulder. "Come on," he said, "I'll help you."
Danny prayed for him as they walked slowly along the stony trail toward the plane, asking God to help Larry see his need of a Saviour and to help him to put his trust in the Lord Jesus. He prayed for Joe and Glen too, who were huddled on the dangerously narrow ledge.
At last, however, they reached the badly wrecked plane. Danny's heart sank within him. The radio was probably damaged.
"Now we'll see if it works!" Larry said tensely as he dragged his injured ankle through the wreckage to the radio transmitter.
He dropped in front of the radio and fumbled in the darkness for the switch.
"Is it going to work?" Danny asked, his voice tense with excitement.
Larry didn't speak for a moment or two. "The current's getting through," he said at last, more to himself than to Danny, "but it's awfully weak. I don't know whether or not it's going to work."
"We'll just have to wait and...and pray," Danny said softly.
Larry stared at him questioningly, then picked up the small microphone