“Rope cut, Master Gwyn?” he cried. “S’pose it does, though. Well, when you two are ready, just say. I’ve got him tight enough. But, hark ye, here; can you tell what I say?”
“Yes,” cried Joe, in a choking voice.
“That’s right. Well, first thing you do, my lad, you try and ease the rope over the edge. It checks you like, don’t you see? Stretch your arms well over, Colonel, and get your fingers in a crack and find a place for your toes, while young Joe Jollivet eases the knot over. Take it coolly. There’s nothing to mind. I’ve got yer, yer know. Ready?”
“Yes. Now, Ydoll, old chap,” whispered Joe, “can you do what he says and find foothold?”
There was a peculiar staring look in the boy’s eyes, but he began to search about with his toes; and almost at once found a crack that he had passed over before, forced in the end of one boot, and, reaching over, he gripped the rope with both hands.
“Get tight hold of my collar,” he whispered rather faintly. “Can you do it kneeling?”
“No power,” said Joe, huskily, “I must stand.”
He rose to his feet, gripping the collar as he was told, gazing there into Gwyn’s eyes, for he dared not look down beyond him into the dizzy depth.
“Now,” said Gwyn, “when you’re ready, I’ll try and raise myself a bit, and you throw yourself back.”
“Wait a moment,” panted Joe. Then he shouted, “Now I am—all together!”