His goal appeared to recede as he advanced. What would he not give to rest his aching arms for just one moment?
“Courage!” cried his friend, and the word gave him strength.
Haverly had made the passage; why not he?
Slowly the distance between him and his goal lessened; ten feet, nine—he would soon be in safety now—eight; then——
Crack! A pistol-like report echoed across the gorge.
“Grip for your life!” cried the Yankee; “the rope’s giving!”
Crack! Again it sounded, like the knell of doom in Seymour’s throbbing ears.
The next moment the rope parted behind him, and he dropped like a stone into the depths. Instinctively his clutch tightened upon the hide.
