“We’ll draw straws,” urged the red-headed fellow. “The fellow that gets the short one goes up.”
“Just consider that I drew the short one,” chuckled Merry, and began to climb.
Clancy growled as he watched his chum hand over hand his way up the first twenty feet, then allow his legs to help his arms the rest of the distance. It was all so easily and so cleverly done that Clancy lost his apprehensions.
“You’re certainly all to the mustard, Chip,” he called. “Don’t linger too long, though. I’m hungry to have a look at the upper end of that rope myself.”
Frank, climbing to the bowlder which had caught Darrel in his fall, wedged himself comfortably between the stunted tree and the face of the cliff, swung his legs out over space and began an examination of the cable.
There were two ends to it, for it had been looped around the paloverde and had given away in the middle of the loop. What Frank discovered he did not make known to his anxious chum at that moment. Severing a four-foot section of the rope, he tied it about his waist, cautiously arose to his feet on the bowlder and began climbing again.
“Where the mischief are you going now, Chip?” bellowed Clancy.
Frank was too busy to answer. Presently the lad below saw him hang to the rocks and reach over the edge of the shelf. The next moment, the lost football came bounding down into the cañon.
“Darn!” roared Clancy. “I should think that confounded ball has caused trouble enough without making you take any more chances to get hold of it. I guess it wouldn’t bankrupt the O. A. C to lose a five-dollar pigskin.”
“We’ll need that in the game this afternoon, Clan,” shouted Merry.