She tore off the long woolen shawl which she had wrapped round her when she came out to seek Ruth. With hands that seemed to gain a superhuman strength Bab tore it into three, four strips. She dared not make the strips narrower for fear they would not hold. Then she took off her skirt of light wool and wrenched it into broad bands. How, Barbara never knew. She felt that the power was given her.
Growing out from a rock between Bab and the moaning figure on the cliff below was a small tree, its roots deeply imbedded in the hard soil. Ruth had evidently reached out to grasp this tree as the cliff bridge gave way beneath her feet; but, missing it, her feet had touched a ledge of rock and she had flung out her arms and clasped the stone above her. How much longer would her failing strength serve her?
Bab again lay down and measured the length of her queer rope. She found that by reaching the tree she could tie the rope to it and it would then be long enough to extend to Ruth. Removing her shoes, Barbara slowly, and with infinite caution, crawled down the jagged rocks, clinging with her hands and toes. Finally she arrived at the tree, and fastened her rope securely around it, only to find it dangled just above Ruth’s head. Yet what was the use? If Ruth for an instant let go the rock to which she clung her feet would slip from the ledge, and Bab’s poor woolen strings could never hold her.
But Barbara understood this. She was face to face with the great moment of her life, and, though she was only a simple country girl, neither her brains nor her strength failed her.
Did she stop at the tree after the rope was tied? No! Still clinging, sliding, her hands bruised and bleeding, Barbara was making her way to where Ruth hung. Bab had said truly that she could climb. Never had a girl a better opportunity to prove her boast! There were moments when she believed she could not go on. Then the thought of Ruth renewed her courage.
Just above Ruth’s head, on the left side of her, was a great boulder with a curved, smooth surface. It was to this rock Bab made her way. She was so close to Ruth now that she could lean over and touch her. “Courage, dear,” she whispered, and she thought she saw Ruth’s pale lips smile. She had not fainted; for this, Barbara was grateful.
When Barbara was a little girl her mother had been ashamed of her tomboy ways; but she had given in, with a gentle sigh, when Bab grew and flourished by playing boys’ games, by learning various boyish arts; among them was the knack of tying a sailor knot.
Edging closer and closer to Ruth she managed to reach out and catch hold of the rope she had fastened to the tree. With one hand on her own rock, with the other she drew the cord about Ruth, fastening it firmly under her arms. The rope was not strong enough to draw Ruth up to safety, but it would steady her should her hands give way.
Somehow, in some way, Barbara must get further help.
Now that her first duty was over, she began to call loudly: “Help, help!” Her shouts roused Ruth, who joined feebly in the cry. No sound answered them. Only the seagulls swept over them, uttering their hoarse call.