“Hope so. Terry claimed he used it double.”
“Yes?” she said doubtfully. “But will the tree hold us both? You’ve been a sailor, but I don’t think I’m up to climbing a swinging rope, hand over hand after coming up that chimney.” She thought for a moment, then went on. “There’s only one way I can get up there. You’ll have to tie one end of the rope to a stone and sling it over the trunk. When that end drops, we can take out the stone, I’ll stick my foot in the loop and—”
“Bill Bolton pulls you up,” he ended for her. “That listens well, Dorothy, and if the rope was running through a pulley up there, everything would be hunky-dory. As it is, she’ll be chafing against a hard, uneven surface. I’d probably pull the tree down, even if I was able to get you off the ground.”
“But my arms feel dead—right up to my shoulders.”
“I know, kid. But you can do it, after I fix the rope and you have lashed your end to this big bush here. It’s going to be a case of shin for you, not hand over hand climb. Although that’s not so hard when you know how. Like most things, there’s a knack to it.”
“All right. I’ll do my best.”
“You’ll make it,” he assured her. “If you’ll untie that end of the rope from around your waist, I’ll hunt up a rock and we’ll get busy.”
Presently a heavy stone was fastened to the rope end.
“Stand clear,” sang out Bill. Then as she stepped back, he swung the stone round and round in a vertical circle, much as a seaman heaves the lead for a sounding.
Up went the stone and the rope, and Dorothy watched with bated breath while she pointed the torch for guidance. She saw it swing over the tree trunk and drop to earth on the farther side.