"Somebody's got to, and what's the matter with my doing it?" Fred demanded. "I'll tell you what to do while I'm sliding down the rope; just carefully take away all these loose stones, so none of 'em can drop on top of me. And, Bristles, when I give the word, buckle down to turn that windlass for all you're worth!"
"I'll do it, Fred. Gosh! if it don't take you to think of things that wouldn't come to me in a thousand years. Say, he's gone, as quick as that! I guess I'll get busy with these stones."
Fred was indeed already slipping carefully down the rope. He believed it was fairly new, and could easily sustain the weight of himself, and another as well, if only the stout Bristles could turn the handle of the windlass long enough to bring them to the top.
Once below the region of sunlight his eyes began to grow more accustomed to the surrounding gloom. He could make out the rough stones all about him that went to form the well itself.
Then he stopped, wondering if he must not be pretty nearly down to the water. The rope still went on, and he could hear what seemed like heavy breathing not far away.
Bristles was working like a beaver above, taking away the loose stones, but exercising great care so that not even a bit of loose earth, or mortar, should fall down the shaft to alarm his chum.
"Hello! where are you, below?"
"Close by you now. Oh! do you think you can get me up again, mister?" came in a quavering voice.
Fred let himself slip down a little further, inch by inch as it were. He was afraid of striking the one who must be clinging to the rope below, undoubtedly chilled to the bone, and sick with fear.
Even at that moment the boy was filled with amazement, and could not imagine how a girl could have gotten into such a strange situation. But his first duty was to get her out.