“You may show it to us with perfect safety,” promised Merriwell.
She gave a quick glance toward Browning, as if for confirmation of the promise.
Browning flushed.
“As Mr. Merriwell says, the secret will be perfectly safe with us, Miss Thornton,” touching his cap. “You may rely on it!”
“I kinder sorter wanted you uns ter beat ’em,” she confessed, “an’ it’ll pleasure me ter help you ter do it. You uns’ll hev ter shin up that thar bluff somehow er ’nuther ter git a start.”
She pointed to the precipice down which she had swung, and Browning gave an inward groan.
“Heavens!” he inaudibly grumbled. “She must want to see me killed. Those vines will come down like cotton strings when I put my weight on them.”
Merriwell nodded, and the girl led the way to the bluff.
“Take holt o’ that thar saplin’ an’ that’ll holp you ter reach the cedar. Then grab them vines an’ git along ez best ye kin. Them vines’ll bear a good heft, an’ ye needn’t be skeered uv ’em.”
Having said this, with pointing finger, she stepped aside. Frank Merriwell grasped the slim hickory and drew himself up to the scrubby cedar that here thrust its roots into a crack in the ledge.