I looked at it. The more I looked, the less I liked it. I looked again more than doubtfully.
“I shall go up first with the rope, and if I slip you’ll have to try and hang on to the end and pick up the bits.” He was taking off his coat as he spoke.
We tied the rope round him, and the rest of us got hold of the end, prepared to try and pull him clear of the arch if he slipped, a pretty hopeless task.
He took a last look round, and then he stepped out the couple of feet over empty space, clinging to a tiny projection in the rock, got his feet on the edge of the seam which ran slightly slanting, and started up.
I have seen some good cool rock-climbing in my time, but never have I seen any one go up like that.
It took him about twenty—to us—breathless minutes, and for the life of me I could not see what he held on to. On going up myself later (with the rope) I found that the seam projected somewhat from the rock face, and gave a good hand-hold. Luckily, it was not badly weathered, and so did not break away.
But we all expected every minute to see him slip from his footing and fly downward, and only hoped that he would fall clear of the arch, and so give the rope a chance of checking him in mid-air below us.
“He’s there,” said Aryenis, as she clapped her hands softly. “He climbs wonderfully.”
I could see he had his hands on the cave floor, and was pulling himself in. Then he disappeared from sight.
“Good old Alec,” said Wrexham. “Whatever happens now, we shan’t die in the desert.”