What Ballard thought did not appear. Just at that moment, he and Clancy heard a swishing sound which attracted their eyes to the wall above the shelf. Exclamations of astonishment escaped them. A rope had dropped its length downward from above, and there, on the very crest of the cliff, the rope in his hands, sat Darrel!
“What’s going on down there, pards?” yelled Darrel.
“Chip’s trying to break his neck walking a rock tight rope,” Clancy answered, making a trumpet of his hands.
“This is my job,” whooped Darrel, “and I don’t think it’s fair for Chip to cut me out of it. Tell him to come down. In about two shakes I’ll be kicking the ball off the shelf and right into your hands.”
“Is that Darrel up there?” Frank asked.
“Sure it’s Darrel, Chip,” replied Ballard. “He’s got a rope hitched to the paloverde, and is all ready to come down.”
“Tell him I can get the ball easier than he can, and for him to pull up the rope and give me a chance at it.”
Darrel heard the words, and did not put those below to the trouble of repeating them.
“No, you don’t, Chip!” he shouted. “If you’re climbing up to the shelf, go back down to the foot of the wall. I’ll have the ball before you can come anywhere near it.”
There was finality in Darrel’s voice, and Frank knew it was useless to argue with him.