They had no means of assisting him. They could do nothing but look on in helplessness, praying for the return of the younger brother. On the second night the rain came—in torrents, as it can only rain in the tropics—and Fernando was able to moisten his parched lips by sucking his drenched clothes.
Wishing to get nearer to the poor fellow, in the hope that they might be able to comfort him, at least with words, Harry and Jim Braid climbed the spur and moved along the ledge at the top of the precipice until they were immediately above the withered tree. There, lying down upon their faces, they cried out to him to be of good courage, reminding him that the dawn approached, that his brother would soon return.
Daybreak is the hour when Life is nearest Death. It was shortly before sunrise that Fernando himself gave up all hope, and called upon God to take charge of his departing soul. He said that he was quite ready to welcome Death; he desired nothing more than to have an end to his misery and suspense. And, even as the words left his lips, the figure of his brother was seen approaching along the ledge.
At the feet of Harry Urquhart, Cortes sank, exhausted. The object of his mission fulfilled, he lost consciousness and drifted into a faint.
With all dispatch they uncoiled the long, snake-like creeper. Passing one end over a jutting pinnacle of rock, they lowered the other towards Fernando. It was more than long enough to reach the place where he lay.
With great difficulty the poor fellow managed to untie his belt and make fast the end of the creeper around his waist. And then they had to wait a long time, until Cortes, who had recovered consciousness, was able to assist the two boys in hauling up the rope.
This was no easy matter, since they had neither a good foothold nor much space upon the terrace. But in the end they succeeded, and the rescued man lay panting on the ledge. He was immediately given water to drink; and when he had drunk, a smile slowly overspread his face, and he looked at the brother who had saved his life. But no word of gratitude ever passed his lips; his thanks—far more eloquent than words—were in his eyes. And the dark eyes of a half-caste are the most expressive and the most beautiful in the world.
[CHAPTER XXXVI—The Twelfth Hour]
Owing to the exhausted state of the two guides, the party could not set forth upon their return journey to the Caves of Zoroaster until the afternoon of the following day.
The powers of endurance of both men had been taxed to the utmost—the elder, by the terrible ordeal through which he had passed; the younger, by his almost superhuman efforts.