Aleck stood with his heart seeming to rise to his throat as if to choke him, while he listened intently for the sound of a falling body loosening a little avalanche of stones.
But all was still below, while above there was the trampling of feet, and a voice said, loudly:
“Are you sure he came this way?”
“Quite, sir. He must have dodged round by that great block of stone.”
“Forward then,” cried the first voice, while from below where he stood came a low, hoarse whisper:
“Now, then, jump!”
For a moment Aleck felt that it was too much. Coward or no coward, he dared not make such a leap in the dark as that. Then, setting his teeth, he stepped close to the edge of the shelf, placed his feet exactly as he had seen the smuggler prepare to drop, and then, with his elbows pressed close to his sides and his open hands raised to a level with his chest, he took the little leap, with the opposite side of the rift seeming to rush upward past his staring eyes, while he dropped what seemed, from the time it lasted, to his overstrained nerves and imagination a tremendous depth—in reality about seven feet—before his feet came flat upon the rock and a strong arm caught him across the chest like a living protecting bar.
Aleck’s eyes turned dim, and the rock face in front spun round before him as he felt himself pressed backward—a few feet beneath what seemed to be a rugged stone eave, which protected him and his companion from being seen by anyone who should peer over the edge, while the next moment the smuggler’s lips were close to his ear and the breath came hot as the man whispered:
“I never knowed a lad before who dared to jump like that. Come on, Master Aleck; I’d trust you with anything now.”