It was as if they had been walking across the flat bottom of a giant frying pan,
and now they had to somehow climb up out of it. They could no longer see Big Thumb.
The cliffs blocked their view. The cliffs also blocked out the sun.
Zero groaned and clutched his stomach, but he remained standing. “I'm all right,” he whispered.
Stanley saw a rut, about a foot wide and six inches deep, running down a cliff. On either side of the rut were a series of ledges.
“Let's try there,” he said. It looked to be about a fifty-foot climb, straight up.
Stanley still managed to hold the sack of jars in his left hand as he slowly moved up,
from ledge to ledge, crisscrossing the rut. At times he had to use the side of the rut for support,
in order to make it to the next ledge. Zero stayed with him, somehow.
His frail body trembled terribly as he climbed the stone wall.
Some of the ledges were wide enough to sit on. Others stuck out no more than a few inches— just enough for a quick step.
Stanley stopped about two-thirds of the way up, on a fairly wide ledge. Zero came up alongside him.
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