“Yes, I’ll mind,” said the man. “But the gun. It is not safe to pitch it down to you.”
“No; leave it up there.”
“For another enemy to get hold of it. No, my lad, that won’t do. There, if I hold it crosswise like this, and drop it down, you can catch it.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then try.”
As he spoke the man went down upon his face, held the gun at arm’s length as far down over the edge as he could, and then after a warning let it fall.
“Right,” cried Nic, catching it cleverly. “Now, how are you going to manage? I came down just there.”
“And I’ll try twenty feet to my left here,” said the convict; and, selecting a place, he lowered himself down until he hung by his hands, and then began to descend with wonderful activity, reaching the bottom without a slip, solely from the rapidity of his movements.
“Why, Leather,” cried Nic, grasping his hand, “you are as active as a squirrel.”
“A man needs to be to lead my life, boy,” said the convict quietly. “Hah! that seems to put humanity into one again. The blacks are friendly enough; but it is for the touch of a white hand one yearns.”