“Wait up till we get a rope—” Just then a strange wailing sound came from behind the man and he glanced fearfully over his shoulder. Mills had started to remove Bob’s rope, but his fingers were clumsy and he fumbled nervously.
“Hold that light closer,” he growled to the chap who had the flash. The rays were directed on the knot while the rest stood impatiently watching, and after a moment one of the men laughed; it sounded like a cackle.
“Those kids—”
“What you waiting for?” called the man across the gully.
“Keep your shirt on, we’re going to throw the rope—”
“Woo-oo-o-oh,” came the weird sound again, only louder. It seemed to be getting closer quickly, rose from a deep moan to a shrill wail that filled the narrow passage, and the man who was holding the flash let it fall from his cold fingers.
“I’ll hold it—”
“I’m coming—” roared the one on the other side. He glanced over his shoulder a second time, then the sound came nearer, louder, and more terrible. With a shriek he flung himself astride the log, his body flat, his arms and legs kicking furiously as he shoved frantically forward, disregarding the danger of the undertaking.
“Be careful,” yelled Jim as he watched the fellow, whose limbs were striking out like a floundering swimmer, sending a shower of rotten timber to the depths below. “Take it easy, you won’t make any headway.”
“Look out—” Mills stopped his futile efforts to get the rope, Lang turned the rays of the light on the log, while one of the other men stood astride the end trying to swing a long vine to the hands of their comrade. He bent forward and threw the long twining end, but the chap was not looking at him, the bit of tendril brushed his cheek; and with a howl of panic he twisted about desperately.