“I don’t care! I don’t care!” cried Joe, wildly. “I must go down to him. Let go, will you?” and he struggled fiercely to get free.
But the man’s strength was double his, and he tore the boy from the wall, threw him down on his back, and placed a foot on his breast to hold him as he rapidly ran out the rest of the rope, till only about a yard remained, and then he released him.
“Now, you keep quiet,” he growled. “You’re mad—that’s what you are!”
Joe rose to his feet, awed by the man’s manner, and grasping now the fact that he was about to take the only steps that seemed available to save his companion.
For Hardock hurried to the other side of the opening, where the wall had been built close to the edge, and there was no space between, so that he could, in leaning over the wall, gaze straight down the shaft.
And then he began jerking the rope; and as he did so they could faintly hear indications of its touching the water far below.
“D’yer hear, there?” he shouted. “Lay holt o’ the rope. Can’t you see it?”
As he spoke, he jerked the stout line and sent a wave along it, making it splash in the water far below; but the faint, whispering and smacking sounds were all the answer, and Joe burst out with a piteous cry,—
“He’s drowned! he’s drowned! Or he’s holding on somewhere waiting for me to go down and save him. Pull up the rope, quick! No; fasten it, and I’ll slide down.”
“Nay, nay; you keep quiet,” growled the man, whose face was now of a sickly pallor. “How’m I to hear what he says, if you keep on making that row?”