Such strenuous efforts could not fail to yield some result. Gradually the snake’s coils began to weaken, and finally Pomp was enabled to crawl from them altogether.
The reptile rolled upon the ground in savage agony, writhing and twisting violently.
Harding was overjoyed at his success in rescuing Pomp, and both made haste to attain a safe distance from the reptile.
“Geolly, but I done fought I was a gone coon dat time!” cried Pomp, with dilated eyes. “I jes’ fink I owes mah life to yo’, Marse Harding.”
“We were fortunate to be able to dispose of the monster!” said Harding, modestly. “But come, Pomp, let us get out of this infernal region.”
“A’right, sarh,” agreed Pomp. “I’se more dan agreeable, sah.”
With this they once more set out through the defile.
After much hard climbing they finally succeeded in crossing the mountain ridge, and suddenly a great cry burst from Pomp’s lips.
“Mah goodness!” he cried; “does yo’ see dat, Marse Harding?”
There, not many miles distant, they saw the Kite anchored in mid-air, not more than a thousand feet above the earth.