“What can I do?” said Scarlett, in a low anxious voice.
“Nothing, sir. Now, Master Fred, let’s get them two down first off the horses, and they can lie on the grass till we’re ready for them. Then, if you think as I do, me being strongest, you’ll go down first, while I hold the rope.”
“Can you?”
“Can I?” exclaimed Samson, in a tone full of contempt. “Then when you’re down, I’ll lower down the stuff first, and you take it and cast the rope loose each time; and next, I’ll let Sir Godfrey down and Master Scar, and then—”
He stopped short.
“Your brother,” said Fred, sharply. “We cannot do better.”
Everything was done according to Samson’s plans, beginning with the helping down of the two wounded riders, after which Fred took the end of the rope, and was lowered into what, in spite of his determination, seemed to be an awful chasm.
But he had no time to think, for directly he touched the shaley floor, the rope was drawn up, and almost directly after, he was hastily taking from the rope the burdens which it bore, while, to his surprise, Scarlett came next.
“You?” said Fred in his wonder.
“Yes; I thought I could help most here; and it seemed so terrible a place for you to be alone.”