For a second he
hung, swaying, above the abyss.
Cyril, scared into semi-insanity by sight of the sudden brief
battle, had caught up a stick from the rubbish at his feet. With
this, not at all knowing what he did, he smote the struggling Lad
with every atom of his feeble force, over the head.
Luckily for the gallant dog, the stick was rotten. It broke, in
the blow; but not before its impact had well-nigh destroyed Lad's
precarious balance.
One clawing hindfoot found toe-room in a flaw of rock. A
tremendous heave of all his strained muscles; and Lad was
scrambling to safety on the ledge.
Cyril's last atom of vigor and resistance had gone into that
panic blow at the dog. Now, the child had flung himself
helplessly down, against the wall of the ledge; and was weeping
in delirious hysterics. Lad moved over to him; hesitated a
moment, looking wistfully upward at the solid ground above. Then,
he seemed to decide which way his duty pointed. Lying down beside
the freezing child, he pressed his great shaggy body close to
Cyril's; protecting him from the swirling snow and from the worst
of the cold.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222