Against this he fell and his clothing caught upon a jagged root.
It held him firmly, and there he hung safe and secure.
A cry of joy went up from Pomp and Barney.
“Jes’ yo’ hang right on, Marse Frank!” cried the darky, earnestly. “Don’ yo’ gib way at all, an’ dis chile he done pull you up a’right.”
“All right, Pomp,” cried Frank, regaining his coolness so habitual to him. “I think I am safe here.”
“Praise de Lor’ fo’ dat?” cried the elated darky. “Jes’ hol’ right on.”
Down went the lariat.
In a moment more it settled over Frank’s shoulders.
As Pomp drew on it, Frank made it secure under his arms.
Then the darky began to draw up on the rope. It required some exertion of strength, but in a few moments Frank cleared the edge.