“Wow! I’m gone!” came a terrified yell from Herc as he felt his body rush downward. All at once he was stopped with a jerk that almost dislocated his shoulders. There he hung, dangling out over the crater and wondering how long it would be before he would be precipitated into the natural furnaces that seemed to be reaching out for him.
What had happened was this. Ned, after the first shock of surprise when the guide dropped the rope, had succeeded in digging his feet up against a rock as Herc’s weight pulled him toward the edge of the crater. This rock cropped out of the ground in pillar-like formation, and he had swiftly taken two turns around it with the rope as if it had been a hitching post. As he did so, a sudden idea came into his head.
“Bring up those ponies,” he shouted to the cowardly, mean-spirited guide who had so nearly been responsible for Herc’s death.
The guide brought the little animals up.
“Now help me hold on to this rope,” ordered Ned brusquely. “If you let go again, you’ll go over into the volcano yourself, sabe?”
“Yes, mister. Me do as you say.”
“All right. You’d better. Ready now?”
Ned unwound the rope from the rock, being careful to take up the strain as it came. This done, he secured the rope around the pommels of the saddles of both the ponies, the saddles being of the high-peaked Mexican variety best adapted for mountain riding.
“Hold tight, Herc!” he shouted.
“All right!” came from below, and Herc began to feel himself rising as the two ponies were driven forward by the guide.