“Hard work,” he said. “Five minutes’ rest. Curious how wearying it is to hold your limbs in a fresh position. Now then,” he continued, “I’ve got to throw that loop over the block up there left-handed. How many tries will it take?”
Saxe remained silent, for he was by no means hopeful; and he watched intently as Dale loosened the rings upon his arm and gathered two or three in his left hand, which he dropped again, while with his right he tried to get a good grip of the rock where there was scarcely any hold at all.
“Now,” he said, as calmly as if he were about to perform some feat with a quoit on level ground, instead of being balanced up in a perilous position, where the slightest loss of equilibrium meant a fall on to rugged stones of over a hundred feet.
As he spoke he threw up the braced loop so truly that it went exactly over the projection, and several rings ran off from his arm and hung down.
“Not a bad throw,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know I was so clever, Saxe. The question is, will it hold?”
The test was soon applied, for he drew the rope in slowly, till the slack was all gathered in, tightened it more and more, and the loop glided off the projection and fell.
“If at first you don’t succeed—eh, Saxe? You know the rest?” cried Dale, as he drew up the loop and coiled the rope on his arm again. “I must get it farther on.”
He threw again, and once more lassoed the projection; but the loop dropped off this time with the weight of the rope, and he had to begin again making all his preparations as carefully as a man does in some perilous position.
Another throw, which proved a complete miss. Then another and another, each proving to be less accurate than the one which had gone before.
“Five minutes’ rest,” said Dale quietly. “My arm is getting tired.”