"Wh-what will we do with him, Hank? W-we can't just leave him here to die!"
Hank stroked a lean and thoughtful jaw.
"Sort o' complicates matters, don't it?" he queried. "Let's see—we couldn't h'ist him up, could we?"
I said bitterly, "I can't, Hank. I hate to admit it—but I'd be a damned liar if I pretended otherwise. I'm so weak, and my armpits so badly strained, that it will be all I can do to lift myself. Can—can you?"
Hank shook his head miserably.
"Nup. I didn't jump off'n that chain just now, Jim, I fell off. Hangin' up there like jerked meat wrenched somethin' in my back. I calc'late I c'n climb that chain myself, but I couldn't h'ist nobody else's weight.
"Wait a minute! Weight!" He repeated the word more loudly. A gleam brightened in his eye. "Sure! Dead weight! That's the answer! Here—gimme a hand, Jim. We got to lash him to one strand o' this pulley-chain. Use them ropes. Got it? Okay—tie him tight, now."
"He—he's tied!" I puffed. The smoke was beginning to get me now. Tears were coursing down my cheeks. Time was getting perilously short. "W-what do we do next?"
"Git on the other end o' that chain," ordered Hank, "an' climb!"
"W-what? And leave him dangling here below? But it only saves our lives, Hank! See, the flames are right on us. We won't have time to reach the skylight and haul him up—"