“We ought to be able to get down from this side,” Frank said. “You stand here at the top of the rim and let me down arm’s length. You see that shelf there? Oh, it’s not more than two inches wide,” the boy went on, as Jack looked his astonishment, “but I can stand on it all right by leaning against the face of the wall.
“Well, I can reach that with my toes if you’ll let me down steadily. Then you drop down the full length of your arms and I’ll keep you from falling when you strike the ledge. There are other ledges below and so we may be able to get clear to the bottom.”
“I’m afraid!” Jack said. “I’m afraid I’ll push you off the ledge when I drop down.”
“We’ve got to take the chance!” Frank returned. “We’ve just got to take the chance, and that’s all there is to it. We can’t let Harry lie there. We’re going to get him out, alive or dead.”
“All right!” Jack said. “Drop your legs inside the pit and catch hold of my hands and I’ll let you down. We can only try!”
It was indeed a desperate undertaking. The walls of the Devil’s Punch Bowl, as all who have ever visited that section understand, are almost perpendicular three-fourths of the way down. Then they form almost a perfect bowl—at least, the bottom of a perfect bowl. In the center of this bowl lies, or did lie at that time, a pool of clear, pure water.
For an instant Frank groped blindly, his feet swinging out into the awful chasm, and then he found the ledge which he had mentioned. He looked up to see Jack looking with face red from exertion over the rim.
“Now, chum,” he said, “swing yourself in and slide down. The eighty per cent slope will throw your weight away from the pit and I’ll keep you from tumbling backwards when you strike the ledge.”
“That ledge doesn’t look very solid to me,” Jack suggested.
“You couldn’t break it with an axe!” replied Frank. “It is safe enough, and the slope will keep your body on the ledge if you don’t get scared. Now go to it, old boy!”