Chapter 3
“You call this reliable?”
“I call it a rope. Save your philosophy.”
A gust struck them broadside. Calvin’s boots scraped uselessly against the icy wall. Henrietta gritted her teeth and worked the knot free one fraction at a time. When at last she had enough slack, she looped the rope around Calvin’s forearm and chest.
He cursed softly.
“That language won’t improve matters.”
“It’s improving mine.”
She pulled the loop tight beneath his arms. “When I say hold still—”
“I am hanging off a mountain.”
“Then continue exactly as you are.”
His glare might have scorched her if the Wyoming winter had not already done its best to freeze them both.
Henrietta took one breath, then another. “Now.”
She released his wrist.
Calvin dropped less than a foot before the rope snapped taut. The force dragged Henrietta sideways, but she had anticipated it. She drove both elbows into the snow and rolled onto her stomach, spreading her weight. For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Calvin shouted, “All right!”
She did not waste breath replying. She began crawling toward the exposed roots.
Every yard cost her. The rope sawed against her waist. Snow forced itself into her sleeves and under her coat. Her right hip, always troublesome after long travel, felt as though the joint had been hammered loose. Twice she stopped because her hands refused to close properly.
Below, Calvin said nothing.
That frightened her too.
“You may curse if you like,” she called.
“I thought you disapproved.”
“I disapprove of unconsciousness more.”
A pause. Then, faintly, “Damn this mountain.”
“Excellent.”
“And damn you for coming after me.”
“Better.”
“And damn that horse.”
“Now you are becoming tedious.”
His laugh was only one rough breath, but she heard it.
The brown mass emerged fully from beneath the snow when she dug with both hands. The old pine was gone except for a shattered stump, but its roots had clawed into the mountainside before Henrietta was born and seemed unwilling to surrender even now. She tore away crusted snow, testing each exposed section. One broke immediately beneath her pull. Another flexed. The third remained buried deep, thick as her forearm.
Please.
She wrapped the rope around it once, twice, then tied the strongest hitch she knew from watching ranch hands secure loads.
The irony did not escape her. Two months earlier Calvin had laughed when she asked one of the men how to tie it.