"He has found them," said Michel.
Some of the guides lined out with the rope in their hands. Chayne took
his position in the front, at the head of the line and nearest to the
crevasse. The pull upon the rope was repeated, and slowly the men began
to haul it in. It did not occur to Chayne that the weight upon the rope
was heavy. One question filled his mind, to the exclusion of all else.
Had Francois found his friend? What news would he bring of them when he
came again up to the light? Francois' voice was heard now, faintly,
calling from the depths. But what he said could not be heard. The line of
men hauled in the rope more and more quickly and then suddenly stopped
and drew it in very gently. For they could now hear what Francois said.
It was but one word, persistently repeated:
"Gently! Gently!"
And so gently they drew him up toward the mouth of the crevasse. Chayne
was standing too far back to see down beyond the edge, but he could hear
Francois' ax clattering against the ice-walls, and the grating of his
boots. Michel, who was kneeling at the edge of the chasm, held up his
hand, and the men upon the rope ceased to haul. In a minute or two he
lowered it.
"Gently," he said, "gently," gazing downward with a queer absorption.
Chayne began to hear Francois' labored breathing and then suddenly at the
edge of the crevasse he saw appear the hair of a man's head.
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