A swift rush through the air, then, with a shock that forced a groan of agony from his bloodless lips, he struck the canyon wall.
For a few seconds he hung, twisting and swaying, at the end of the rope, until his feet found hold on a narrow ledge in the face of the rock. On to this he drew himself.
For the moment he was safe.
As he stood there, gasping and panting, feeling as though he had not a whole bone in his body, the glare of Haverly’s lantern pierced the gloom.
Looking upward, Seymour saw his friend’s face peering anxiously down from the cliff top.
“It’s all right, Silas,” he panted; “I’ll be with you at soon as I’ve got my wind.”
“Jupiter!” exclaimed the American, “I reckoned you’d passed in your checks for sure that time. It was a narrow squeak! Take your time,” he continued, as the baronet commenced to haul himself up. “Don’t overdo it.”
Four minutes later Seymour’s head appeared above the edge of the cliff, and, with the millionaire’s ready help, he dragged himself over into safety.
“I wouldn’t go through that again for a king’s ransom,” he said.
“I guess you’d hardly come out of it so well another time,” returned Silas; “it’s the closest call I’ve struck for a considerable stretch. Say when you’re ready and we’ll hustle.”