Chapter Thirty Four.
The Olden Folk.
“Pull, pull, pull!” cried Chris wildly.
“No, no!” came from below. “I’m all right. Only a big stone I loosened. Wait a moment, and then let me go on.”
Chris uttered a hoarse gasp, and turned faint, while Ned felt the hide-rope attached to the barrel turn wet and slippery in his hands.
“Go on! Gently!” cried Griggs, and the rope was once more allowed to glide steadily down; the rasping of boots on the blocks of stone below continued, and at the end of another minute ceased as Griggs shouted up—
“There, I’m all right—standing on a big block with the water rushing along about a foot below me. Keep tight hold now. You, boys, ease down the barrel till I shout. Don’t let it go when the water grabs it. Lower away. Right! I have it; now ease a little more and a little more. Now keep tight; I’m going to force it under water.”
It seemed to Chris that he could see everything quite plainly as their hands which held the hide-ropes were drawn lower and lower.
“That’s right,” came up in Griggs’ hoarse, echoing voice, which sounded as if he were panting from the way in which he was exerting himself; and then with the barrel rope jerking violently, the boys felt a peculiar thrill and a sensation as if the weight was increasing for what seemed, though only a few minutes, a terribly long time.
“All right!” at last. “She’s full. Now, then, haul up. I’m safe here, on good standing-ground. Two hold my rope. Up with the barrel.”