The easier plan seemed to be to go round one end or the other; but it only appeared to be the simpler plan, for on trying to put it to the test it soon proved itself to be the harder, promising as it did a long, toilsome climb, whichever end they took.
“Jump it,” said Mike: “there’s a good landing-place on the other side.”
“Yes, but if I don’t reach it I shall get a nice scratching. Look at that blackthorn covered with brambles.”
“Oh, never mind a few thorns,” said Mike, grinning. “I’ll pick them all out for you with a packing needle.”
“Thankye,” said Vince, eyeing the rift he had to clear: “you’ll have enough to do to pick out your own thorns, for if I go down I’m sure you will. Stand aside and let’s have a good start.”
There was no running, for it was a standing jump from one rugged block to another a little lower; and after taking a good swing with both arms, the lad launched himself forward, drawing his feet well up, clearing the mass of tangled bushes below, and just reaching the other side with his toes.
An inch or two more would have been sufficient; as it was, he had not leaped quite far enough, for his boots grated and scratched down the side facing him, the bushes below checked him slightly, and he tried to save himself with his hands and clung to the rough block for a few moments. Then, to Mike’s great amusement, he slipped suddenly lower, right in among the brambles which grew from out of a rift, and looked matted enough together to support him as he hung now by his hands.
“Scramble up, Cinder!” cried Mike. “You are a jumper!”
“Wait till you try it, my lad,” was the reply; and then, “Must drop and climb out at the end.”
As Vince spoke his hands glided from their hold, and he dropped out of sight among the bushes, and at the same moment, to Mike’s horror, there was the rushing noise of falling stones, increasing to quite an avalanche, and sounding hollow, echoing, and strange, as if descending to a terrific depth.