Then there was a roar of sliding stones, and Weston, dropping on his knees, flung an arm about the girl.

She fell as he did it, and they slid down together a yard or so before he drove one foot deep into the gravel and brought himself up.

Then he risked a glance at her.
"Don't look down!" he commanded sharply.
Her face was set and white, but she met his gaze, and in her eyes there was something that suggested confidence in him.

He felt that he could be sure of her nerve, but whether her strength or his would suffice for the scramble back was another matter, and he was horribly afraid.

Kinnaird, lying flat down, held out his hand, and in a moment or two Weston and the girl stood with the others close beneath the rock.