The same thought, though, had occurred to Tom, and in a husky voice he said:
“Take hold of the guide’s hand, Mas’r Harry, and creep under the mule’s legs to his side.”
It was no time to hesitate; and I did as I was told, the mule giving utterance to quite a shriek as I passed.
“Now can you both reach the bridle?” Tom whispered.
“Yes, yes!” we both exclaimed.
“Hold on tight then, while one of you cuts it through, and then the mule will be out of the way.”
We each took a good grip of the leathern thong, raising it so that we had Tom’s full weight upon our muscles; and then crouching down so as not to be drawn over, I hastily drew out my knife, opened it with some difficulty by means of my teeth, and then tried to cut the bridle above our hands.
But feeling himself partly relieved of his burden, the mule began to grow restless, stamping, whinnying, and trying to get free. For a moment I thought we might utilise his power, and make him back and help draw Tom up; but the narrowness of the ledge forbade it, and he would only have been drawn sidewise till the rein broke.
Twice I tried to cut the bridle, but twice the mule balked me, and I was glad to ease the fearful strain on one arm by catching at the hand that held the knife.
“Try again, Mas’r Harry, please,” whispered Tom. “I can’t hang much longer.”