Caspar felt satisfied of this fact; nor did either of the others question its truth—but what then?
“What,” inquired Karl, “would be the use of a rope of fifty yards, though the eagle might carry it up to the moon? Even at the lowest part of the cliffs—should the bearcoot take one end over, the other would be fifty yards above our heads?”
“Not a yard, brother—not a foot. The other end would be in our hands—in our hands, I tell you.”
“Well, Caspar,” calmly rejoined the philosopher, “you appear to be confident enough; though I can’t guess what you are driving at. You know this hideous precipice is at no point less than a hundred yards in sheer height?”
“I do,” replied Caspar, still speaking in the same tone of confidence; “but a rope of only fifty—ay, of not more than half that length—may be held in our hands, while the other end is over the top of the cliff.”
Karl looked perplexed; but the shikaree, on this occasion quicker of perception than the philosopher, catching at Caspar’s meaning, cried out:—
“Ha, ha! young sahib meanee from top ob da ladder! Dat meanee he.”
“Exactly so,” said Caspar; “you’ve guessed right, Ossy. I mean just that very thing.”
“Oh! then, indeed,” said Karl, in a drawling tone, at the same time lapsing into a reflective silence.
“Perhaps you are right, brother,” he added, after a pause. “At all events, it will be easy to try. If your scheme succeed, we shall not require to make any more cord. What we have will be sufficient. Let us make trial at once!”