“Can you bear my weight, Jem?”
“Can I bear your weight? Why? You may stand there for a week. Now just you rest your wristies a bit, and then go on climbing down, just as if I warn’t here.”
The minute before Don had felt that he could bear the strain no longer. Now the despairing sensation which came over him had gone, his heart felt lighter as he stood on Jem’s shoulders, and sought another hold for his hands lower down. The wild, fluttering pulsation ceased, and he grew composed.
“I’m rested now, Jem,” said Don.
“Of course you are, my lad. Well, then, now you can climb down aside me. ’Tarn’t so much farther to the bottom.”
“Can you reach out far enough for me to come between you and the rock?”
“Just you try, Mas’ Don.”
By this time Don had found a fresh hold for his feet; and nerving himself, he descended slowly, Jem forcing himself out, so that there was enough room for any one to pass; but as Don cleared him, and got right below, the bush to which Jem clung with one hand came slowly out of the interstices of the stones, and but for the exercise of a large amount of muscular power and rigidity of will, he would have swung round and fallen headlong.
“I’m all right now, Jem!” cried Don from below.
“Glad of it, my lad,” muttered Jem, “because I arn’t.”