Mike gave the rope a tug, then a sharp jerk, and another, before, raising his hands and grasping it as high as he could, he took a run, and then, raising his legs, let himself swing to and fro.
“Bear anything,” he cried. “There, you’d better go first.”
“You fastened it,” said Vince, “so you’ve got first go.”
“No, it was your idea. Up with you! but you’ve scared the pigeons away.”
Vince seized the rope as high as he could reach, twisted it about his leg, pressing the strong strands against his calf with the edge of his shoe-sole, and then began to climb slowly, drawing himself up by the muscular strength of his arms, while the rope began to revolve with him slowly.
“Meat’s burning,” cried Mike, grinning. “Wants basting;” and he picked up handsful of sand to scatter over the climber’s back.
But Vince was too busy to heed his interruption, and by trying hard he soon drew himself right into the narrow crack, and the next minute only his boots were visible, and they were drawn out of sight directly after.
“Well?” cried Mike; “what have you found?”
“Grapnel,” panted Vince; for climbing a single thin rope is hard work.
“Yes, but what else?”