“No,” Frank advised, “you never can climb up the tunnel with a broken arm. We’ll bundle you up in our coats, tie you tight like a mummy with the rope, and then pull you up. The floor of the tunnel is so smooth that you’ll think you’re out sleigh-riding on a winter night.”
This plan was followed, and the injured boy was landed at the entrance of the old channel with very little inconvenience.
The moon was higher in the heavens now, and its light illuminated not only the circle of jagged rocks which held the pit in their setting but also a portion of the depression itself. Ned searched the top with a field glass but found no evidence of enemies.
“The way is clear, I think,” he decided, “and the question now before the house is as to how we’re going to get that rope up.”
“Don’t be asking foolish questions,” Jimmie cut in. “Frank and Jack wormed their way down here, didn’t they?”
“Indeed we did,” Jack answered, “and came very near breaking our necks half a dozen times!”
“Then I can worm my way up!” Jimmie insisted. “Here,” he went on, “you see that crooked corner of rock twenty or thirty feet up? Well, just throw the rope over that and I’ll get up that far anyway. I think I can see resting places for the rope at intervals all the way up. I’m the original aerial climber!”
“We don’t want another boy with broken limbs,” suggested Frank.
“If I get a tumble,” Jimmie advised, “you won’t have any trouble picking me up. You can carry me home in your pockets.”
The mode of climbing the precipice suggested by the lad was not so difficult as it at first appeared to be. With the aid of the rope, a strong arm, and infinite daring, the boy soon reached the lip of the pit and the rest was easy, when all were at the top, Jimmie reminded his companions that they had paid no attention to the bodies of the two men who had fallen over the precipice.