In Passing Around
The Shoulder Of The Highest Pinnacle, Where The Rock Was Rapidly
Disintegrating And The Danger Of Slipping Was Great, I Shouted In
A Warning Voice, "Be Very Careful Here, This Is Dangerous."
Mr. Young was perhaps a dozen or two yards behind me, but out of
sight.
I afterwards reproached myself for not stopping and lending
him a steadying hand, and showing him the slight footsteps I had made
by kicking out little blocks of the crumbling surface, instead of
simply warning him to be careful. Only a few seconds after giving
this warning, I was startled by a scream for help, and hurrying back,
found the missionary face downward, his arms outstretched, clutching
little crumbling knobs on the brink of a gully that plunges down a
thousand feet or more to a small residual glacier. I managed to get
below him, touched one of his feet, and tried to encourage him by
saying, "I am below you. You are in no danger. You can't slip past
me and I will soon get you out of this."
He then told me that both of his arms were dislocated. It was almost
impossible to find available footholds on the treacherous rock, and
I was at my wits' end to know how to get him rolled or dragged to a
place where I could get about him, find out how much he was hurt, and
a way back down the mountain. After narrowly scanning the cliff and
making footholds, I managed to roll and lift him a few yards to a
place where the slope was less steep, and there I attempted to set
his arms.
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