“Hurry up, fellows,” came from Joe. “The bridge is giving way up here and the whole thing may go down any minute. I’m coming down to help you get Jimmy up.”
“No, don’t do that,” cried Bob, rousing himself to fresh exertions. “Your weight down here would only help to pull the bridge down the quicker. You and Herb stand by to give us a hand when we get near the top.”
“Now, Jimmy,” he continued, turning to his comrade, “we’ve got to brace and get up to the top somehow just as soon as we can. You crawl up alongside of me, grabbing anything you can find to give a hold to your fingers in the cracks of the planking, and I’ll boost you along just as much as I can.”
Jimmy summoned up the last remnants of his strength, and they commenced their arduous climb up the slippery planks of the bridge.
It was like a nightmare. They would advance a little and then slip back, losing sometimes as much as they had gained. But they kept on with an energy born of desperation. As often as Bob found a secure grip with his right hand, he would reach out with his left and give Jimmy a vigorous boost upward and forward. Every second now was precious, for they could tell from the grinding noise above and the increased swaying of the bridge that its last supports were rapidly giving way. Yet despite their utmost endeavor, they were only gaining inches when they should have been gaining feet.
“Buck up, Jimmy,” Bob encouraged his comrade, though his own strength was fast ebbing. “We’ve only got six feet more to go.”
“Not that much,” cried a voice that they recognized as Joe’s, and the next instant a pair of vigorous arms reached out and two strong hands gripped Jimmy’s wrists.
Joe had thrown himself flat, head downward, from the top of the bridge, while Herb at the top held on to his heels.
“Leave Jimmy to me,” commanded Joe.
“We’ll swing him up and then we’ll give you a hand. Pull away, Herb.”