Lying there, still, Fulcher checked himself for injuries. His body, though cut and battered, seemed intact. It was his sanity he questioned. It's only a damned goat, after all, he thought. They eat license plates and tin cans. Minutes later, Fulcher's freshly scraped and bloody hands were again pulling him toward the summit. Once at the top, Sternbergh offered Fulcher an arm to help him sit. Fulcher's body was spent and his spirit was drained.