one o'clock
The guides , keeping in the tracks of the animals , marked off dangerous places with their sticks ; and behind them rode Lenox , muffled to the eyes in poshteen and Balaklava cap , his league of leg barely two feet off the ground ; his keen little pony -- long since christened ` The Rat ' -- almost as trustworthy on dangerous ground as the donkey himself . And wherever he led , all self-respecting Kashmiri ponies would follow , -- even into a crevasse ! Through four mortal hours they plodded on , a strange procession of muffled figures , leaving in their wake a dark , contorted track , as though some wounded thing had writhed its way upward through the frozen snow . And by one o'clock the crest was in sight ! `` The gods favour those who go forward ! '' Chundra Sen had spoken truth . Another half hour would see them through the worst ; and Lenox -- scarcely able to believe in his good fortune -- urged The Rat to renewed exertion , and shouted to his men to hurry on .