“How long can you hold on, Rob?” he called down.
“Not much longer I’m afraid,” came back in a voice that could hardly have been recognized as Rob’s, “can’t you get a rope?”
Merritt shook his head. He knew that a search for such an article would take too much precious time.
“No; but you hold on, old chap. Keep up a good heart and we’ll get you out of that, never fear.”
Turning to his companions he hastily explained his plan. An instant later the three Scouts were rushing down the crazy stone staircase headed for the opening above Rob. As soon as they reached it Merritt peered out. Rob was still there, but he looked up appealingly at his chum. Merritt knew what the look meant. Rob couldn’t hold on much longer, but dared not waste breath in speaking.
“Now, then, fellows,” spoke Merritt, turning to his chums, “what we’re going to do is easy enough if you keep cool; but if you get rattled it may fail.”
“We’ll keep cool all right, Merritt,” Fred assured him, though his breath was coming fast.
As for Tubby, his countenance did not betray the flicker of a muscle. Merritt knew he could rely on the fat boy, but of Fred’s more emotional nature he had not been quite so sure.
Suddenly his eye caught sight of something that would make his task easier. In the wall of the opening was a big, rusty iron staple. What its former use had been there was no means of guessing; but Merritt regarded it with delight. It made the daring thing he was about to attempt a little more certain of success.
“Tubby, you just hook your belt through that staple,” he ordered, “and then hang on to Fred’s feet for all you are worth. Fred, you lie down right here,—with your hands just at the edge,—that’s right.”