The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Four by Louis L’Amour

us away,” he advised, “you will keep these people huddled together until daylight.” He glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. “It is now three o’clock in the morning. It will begin to grow light shortly after six, possibly a little before. When it has become gray, make a stretcher of a couple of coats, load anyone who may not be able to walk, and move eastward along the ridge.
    “When you’ve gone perhaps a quarter of a mile, away from this precipice, angle down the mountain toward the trees. Once there, build a fire and build a shelter. You have matches?”
    “Yes.” She hesitated. “Good luck.”
    “Thanks. I’ll move the injured man first.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    “No. Please don’t.” Dyea’s voice was flat. “Now,” he lifted his voice to the man in the plane, “your name and address, please? And any message for the stewardess?”
    There was a moment of silence. “I am Victor Barclay, of Barclay and Paden, attorneys. My wife and children are living in Brentwood, California.” He hesitated. “Only my love to them.”
    Miss Taylor turned her dark, serious eyes to the big man beside her. “And you, sir?”
    “No message,” Dyea said.
    “Your name?”
    “It does not matter.”
    “But isn’t there someone?”
    “No.”
    “I would like to know.”
    He smiled. She saw it clearly in the moonlight. The dark seriousness of his face changed. “My name is Dyea. Spelled D-Y-E-A. My family pronounced it dee-ah, the accent on the first syllable.”
    He hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Go now. Stay clear of the plane. I believe the wings are both gone, but some part might be under the snow and might drag you over. The rock will give you shelter.”
    When the woman was gone, Dyea stepped into the ship. With the decrease of weight, the situation was even more precarious. He walked carefully to the seated man. A blanket was over his legs, but obviously, both were broken. No other injuries were apparent. “All right, Barclay,” Dyea said, “I’m going to pick you up. It may hurt like the devil. Despite that, you must hold yourself very still. If you move, you’ll overbalance me on this incline and I’ll fall. A fall would start the plane sliding.”
    “Very well. I’m ready.”
    Dyea’s eyes flickered for the first time. He looked down the plane toward the tail, then at the door. He touched his lips with his tongue and, setting his feet carefully, stooped and picked up the injured man. As he straightened, he felt a sickening sensation of movement beneath him. He stood stock-still, holding the lawyer as if he were a child. The movement stopped with a faint grating sound; turning, Dyea took his first step. As he put down his foot with the combined weight of nearly four hundred pounds, he felt the ship shift beneath him. A queer sensation went up his spine, such a feeling as he had known but once before, when ice cracked beneath his feet out on a lake, a half mile from shore.
    He took another step. There was no further movement, and he climbed down into the snow and walked over to the dark huddle of figures waiting in the lee of the rock.
    Placing the lawyer on a coat spread out for him, Dyea straightened. “I think both thighs are fractured. I did not examine him. Possibly the lower part of the left leg, also. Keep him very warm and set the legs if you can.”
    Barclay looked up through the sifting flakes. His eyes were large with pain. “Don’t go back,” he said, “that little girl may not be alive by now.”
    “She was unconscious,” Miss Taylor said.
    “It’s no matter. I’m going back.”
    “Don’t be a fool, man!” Barclay burst out. “That plane almost went with us. It won’t stand any more moving around. You know it and I know it. There’s no use losing two lives when the one may go anyway.”
    Dyea did not reply. He turned, chafing his hands together. Then he walked quietly and stopped beside the plane. He looked around him, feeling the bitter cold for