TIME'S FINGER 299 



Rub ! Rub ! Rub 1 And I fancied I saw leathern dust 

 fall like filings from iron down deeper into the crevice. 

 Before dawn the boot was working freely, and with one 

 arm on the compressed body of the wallaby to ease my 

 weight, rest was possible. The plan for the disengage- 

 ment of the right foot, painfully rigid and cold, was 

 perfect in theory. Would it hold in practice ? When 

 the left was free I would, by friction of the iron studs in 

 the sole, wear away the laces of the engaged boot so 

 that the foot might be withdrawn. 



But physical weakness became imperious. The dis- 

 traction of cramped and bruised flesh had to be with- 

 stood the while the constancy of the function was main- 

 tained. Continual comfort came from the dead body 

 of the ill-fated wallaby — a sort of fellowship, and a 

 feeling that with its co-operation the contest between 

 living flesh and blood and the inert force of the mountain 

 was not altogether one-sided. Light was certainly cheer- 

 ful, but the crevice filled with mist which distilled on the 

 rock, and a chill current of air benumbed my aching 

 limbs. 



Under the pressure of fierce determination the task 

 persisted, until, quite unexpectedly as it seemed, the 

 boot was free; and then, shoving and squeezing 

 the wallaby as a cushion for my right arm, the sole 

 of the left boot began to rasp away at the instep of 

 the right. In such a constrained position the opera- 

 tion, which could be persevered in by fits and starts 

 only, was exasperatingly slow. The sun sopped up the 

 morning mist and boldly explored the crevice, revealing 

 the marvellous precision of the space between the walls. 

 No work of art could be more regular. The sheer sim- 

 plicity of the trap made it the more effectual. The 

 sunhght showed, too, that the fissure was the skylight 

 of a cave which opened out on the ravine. Dry boulders 



