CHAPTER 9 A CALL FOR HELP

After coming to a stop at the bottom of the crevasse, Penny momentarily was too stunned to move.

Gradually recovering her breath, she gingerly twisted first one leg, then the other. Though pains shot through them, no bones were broken.

Rolling over on her back, the girl gazed up at the narrow opening far above her.

“Served me right for being so careless!” she thought. “But the $64 question, is how am I going to get out?”

With fingers numb from cold, Penny removed her broken skis.

Walls of the hole into which she had fallen were sharp and firm with frozen ice, offering few if any handholds.

Unwilling to call attention to her plight unless absolutely necessary, she studied the sheer walls carefully, and then, grasping a projection, tried to raise herself to a ledge just over her head. The ice broke in her fingers, and she tumbled backwards again.

Penny now began to suffer from cold. Her clothes, damp from perspiration, were freezing to her body.

“This is no time to be proud!” she thought. “I’ll have to shout for help and hope Winkey hears me. He’s the last person in the world I’d ask voluntarily, but if he doesn’t help me, I may be trapped here hours! I could freeze to death!”

Penny shouted for help and was alarmed by the sound of her own voice. Not only was it weak, but it seemed smothered by the walls of the crevasse. She knew the cry would not carry far.

But as she drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting again, she heard voices only a short distance away.

Her first thought was that her cry for help had been heard and someone was coming to her aid.

The next instant she knew better. Those who approached were arguing violently.

“You stole the wood from my land!” she heard the accuser shout. “I saw you pile it on your sled, and you’re carrying it away now!”

Penny recognized the gruff voice of Vernon Eckenrod and guessed that he was talking to Winkey. Evidently the two were coming closer, for their argument was waxing louder.

Forgetting her own predicament, Penny listened intently. The pair were now almost at the brink of the crevasse.

“Say something!” Eckenrod roared. “What excuse have you got for stealing my wood?”

“Button your lip!” Winkey retorted. “The boss told me to get some wood for the fires at the monastery. So I done it.”

“He told you to steal, did he?”

“You’ll git your money.”

“Money isn’t the point! I cut that wood myself from my own land, and I want it for my own use! Here, give me that sled! You’re hauling it straight back where you got it!”

“Keep your hands off!”

Penny heard the sound of scuffling, and then above her, at the mouth of the crevasse, she saw the two men struggling.

“Look out!” she called.

Startled by her voice, Eckenrod turned and looked down. At that instant, when he was off guard, the hunchback struck him. Reeling backwards, the artist tried to recover balance and could not. With a shriek of fright and rage, he fell into the chasm.

Penny attempted to break the man’s fall with her body. She was not quick enough, and he rolled to the very bottom, ending up on a pile of broken skis. There he lay groaning.

If Penny had expected that Winkey would be aghast at his brutal act, she was to learn otherwise.

“That’ll teach you!” he shouted in glee. “Don’t never accuse me of stealing!”

“Help us out!” Penny called.

She knew Winkey heard her, for he stopped short and peered down into the crevasse to see who had appealed for help. Giving no sign he had seen her, he then disappeared.

“Maybe he’s going for a rope!” Penny thought. “But I’d quicker think he’s deserting us!”

Now thoroughly alarmed, the girl crept over the slippery ice to Vernon Eckenrod’s side. He was conscious but stunned. Blood gushed from a cut on the back of his head and one leg remained crumpled beneath him.

With a handkerchief, Penny attempted to stop the flow of blood. She was relieved to note that the wound was a superficial one.

“Try to sit up,” the girl urged. “If you lie on the ice your clothes will soon freeze fast.”

Eckenrod’s eyes opened and he stared blankly at her.

“Who are you?” he muttered. “How did you get down here?”

“I fell, the same as you. I’m Penny Parker, the girl you met yesterday at the monastery.”

With her help, the artist pulled himself up on an elbow.

“I remember you now,” he mumbled. “Did you see that hunchback push me down here?”

“Yes, I did. It was a brutal thing to do. I think now he may have gone for a rope.”

“Don’t you believe it!” Eckenrod said bitterly. “He wouldn’t help us if we were freezing to death! The man is a thief! He was stealing my wood! I’ll have the law on him!”

“First we have to get out of here,” Penny reminded him. “That’s not going to be easy.”

Eckenrod became sober as he studied the sharp walls of the crevasse. The only possible handhold was a ledge well above their heads.

“If you can boost me up, I think I can make it,” Penny said. “Then I’ll go for help.”

Eckenrod attempted to get to his feet, but his left leg crumbled beneath him. Pain and despair were in his eyes as he gazed at his companion.

“Broken,” he said. “Now we are in a fix.”

Trying not to disclose fright, Penny said the only thing to do was to call for help. However, after she had shouted until she was nearly hoarse, she too was filled with despair.

“Winkey isn’t coming back,” she acknowledged. “And no one else is close enough to hear our cries!”

In an attempt to ease Mr. Eckenrod’s pain, Penny tore strips of cloth from her underskirt, and used the broken skis to make a splint.

“There’s nothing wrong with my right leg,” the artist insisted. “It’s good and strong. If only I could get up on it, I think I could boost you to the ledge. We’ve got to do something!”

“Could you really do it?” Penny asked, hope reviving.

“I’ve got to,” the artist replied grimly. “Night’s coming on. We’ll freeze if we’re here an hour.”

With Penny’s help, Mr. Eckenrod after several attempts, managed to struggle upright on his good right leg. He weaved unsteadily a moment, then ordered:

“Now onto my shoulders!”

She scrambled up, grasping the icy ledge above. It broke in her fingers.

“Hurry!” muttered Mr. Eckenrod, gritting his teeth.

With desperate haste, Penny obtained another handhold which seemed fairly firm. She could feel Mr. Eckenrod sagging beneath her. Knowing it was then or never, she heaved herself up and rolled onto the ledge. Miraculously, it held her weight.

Relieved of the burden of the girl’s weight, Mr. Eckenrod collapsed on the floor of the crevasse again, moaning with pain.

“Oh, Mr. Eckenrod!” Penny was aghast.

“Go on!” he urged in a stern voice. “You can make it now! Climb on out and bring help! And be quick about it!”