“Egad!” he muttered, “it is no wonder that I did not find them. I hope they are yet safe. Remaining out all night on these mountains is no joking matter.”
He hastened to drive the air-ship around to the opposite side of the peak again. As he did so the Spectre hung for a moment over a deep chasm thousands of feet in depth.
Involuntarily Frank glanced down into the chasm, and then gave a great cry of astonishment and alarm.
Far down in these awful depths he witnessed a thrilling scene.
A man hung over the fearful verge by the roots of a clinging vine.
It was knotted about his body, and he swung to and fro over the verge, liable at any moment to be precipitated to an awful death.
It required but a moment for Frank to recognize the unfortunate man. It was Barney O’Shea.
The Celt’s face was deadly pale and streaked with blood. His clothing was torn, and his appearance that of one who had experienced a hard battle.
As he saw the air-ship above him he waved his arm feebly. Frank answered the signal.
Then he allowed the Spectre to sink down into the chasm. It was quickly close by the Celt, and Frank threw a noosed rope over the rail.