"I ... can't ... do it," Jak panted, his strength gone, his muscles and limbs aching and trembling.
"Tie your end around a tree. I'll try to work myself out."
Jak did so, and the muscles on Jon's more powerful arms, back and shoulders stood out in ridges as he threw all his splendid young strength into this climactic effort. He pulled, he wriggled about from side to side.
Slow, heartbreaking moments passed as the tug of war continued. Inch by hard-fought inch Jon was withdrawing his imprisoned legs from the sucking, gripping stuff that was so determined not to yield its victim.
But he was still only a boy, and he had neither the strength nor the endurance to continue for long this tremendous struggle. Slowly his efforts grew weaker and less successful. The sand began reclaiming that which it had lost. Before long Jon sank back, and the strain on the vine relaxed.
"Can't ... make it. You've been a great brother...." He tried to smile. "Take care of Mom and Pop ... and break it to them gently."
"Shut up, you dope," Jak yelled, but there was a catch in his voice. "We're not licked yet!"
Desperately his mind raced. He must think of some more effective mode of leverage. If only he knew how to handle the ship! He could bring that here, and with the loading winch in the lock drag his brother loose. But that was out—he didn't know how to handle it.
He thought of going after his mother, but realized quickly that before he got her and brought her back, Jon would be gone.
No, it was strictly up to him—and time was swiftly running out.