"Well, on the whole," said Mr. Blakeney, smiling at their enthusiasm, "I think Poeskop had better go first. His claims are undeniable. His weight is about two and a half stone less than either, and he was the first of us to set eyes on the kloof. Let him go."
"Very well," said Guy.--"Poeskop, you go first, and I'll follow."
They had fastened the top end of the ladder with the greatest care to a sturdy wild olive tree which grew there. They had taken the utmost precaution to guard against any chafing at the edge of the cliff, and, to strengthen the ladder yet more, had added two extra pieces of hide to the side-supports for thirty feet from the end where it was fastened to the tree. All being prepared, Poeskop, with his carbine slung to his back, put his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and began the descent. The little man had not an atom of fear in his composition, and he went down steadily, hand under hand, with the greatest composure. The rope and hide structure bore his weight easily. There was no strain, and it was evident that the great care which Mr. Blakeney had bestowed on the making had not been thrown away.
At last, after what to the watchers at the top seemed an interminable length of time, the Bushman reached the foot. Stepping out from under the base of the cliff to a spot where he could see his masters, he waved his hat and called out in English, "All right."
"Now then, it's my turn," cried Guy.
"All right," said his uncle. "Away you go. But take care. Don't be in a hurry."
Stepping over the edge of the precipice, and hanging on firmly with either hand, Guy went briskly down. It seemed a rather fearsome height; but the lad had a cool head and had been an expert climber, scaling many a lofty tree in search of hawks', rooks', and carrion crows' eggs. Still, more than three parts of the way down, as the cliff sheered inward and the ladder hung dangling in mid-air, it was none too pleasant. The task was presently accomplished, however, and Guy stood by Poeskop's side. Next came Tom, and after him Mr. Blakeney, Seleti and September remaining at the top to look after things and guard the end.
"My word," said Mr. Blakeney, as he set foot on the ground with a sigh of relief, "that's one of the nastiest jobs I ever tackled. I was never much of a climber as a boy, and I didn't quite realize what such a descent was like until I was ten paces over the cliff and looked downward. It's more the sort of game for rock rabbits and lizards than for a douce, middle-aged man."
"Never mind, pater," said Tom, who had slipped down the ladder with the ease of a lamplighter, "you'll soon get used to it. After another ascent and descent you'll think nothing of it."
"Don't you make any mistake, my boy," retorted his father. "It's very easy for a light, limber lad like you to get down that ladder. You'll find it a vastly different job getting up. Four hundred and twenty feet of rope-ladder upwards is a stiff task, and you'll find yourself not so keen to do it very often--I'm convinced of that fact."