The wall narrowed as they advanced, became the merest edge which cut their hands as they clasped it.

Hine closed his eyes, his head whirled, he was giddy, he felt sick.
He stopped gripping the slope on both sides with his knees, clutching the sharp edge with the palms of his hands.
"I can't go on! I can't," he cried, and he reeled like a novice on the back of a horse.
Garratt Skinner worked back to him.
"Put your arms about my waist, Wallie! Keep your eyes shut! You shan't fall." Walter Hine clung to him convulsively, Pierre Delouvain steadied Hine from behind, and thus they went slowly forward for a long while.

Garratt Skinner gripped the edge with the palms of his hands--so narrow was the ridge--the fingers of one hand pointed down one slope, the fingers of the other down the opposite wall.

Their legs dangled.
At last Walter Hine felt Garratt Skinner loosening his clasped fingers from about his waist.

Garratt Skinner stood up, uncoiled the rope, chipped a step or two in the ice and went boldly forward.