It thinned to a mere sharp edge, a line without breadth of cold blue ice, and it stretched away through the air for a great distance until it melted suddenly into the face of the mountain.

On the left hand an almost vertical slope of ice dropped to depths which Hine did not dare to fathom with his eyes; on the right there was no slope at all; a wall of crumbling snow descended from the edge straight as a weighted line.

On neither side could the point of the ax be driven in to preserve the balance.

Walter Hine uttered a whimpering cry: "I shall fall! I shall fall!" Garratt Skinner, astride of the ridge, looked over his shoulder.
"Sit down," he cried, sharply.

But Walter Hine dared not.