Deftly the lad hurled the length of rope. It fell short. Another and yet another cast did he make, but without success. The rope was too heavy and stiff to be thrown sufficiently far.
Again Ranworth's voice was heard.
"Be quick," he exclaimed. "The edge of the ice is chafing the rope badly. It won't hold much longer."
"Leslie," said Guy earnestly, "I'm going to take this rope to the edge and drop it over. There's enough slack in your rope to carry back to the sleigh. Be sharp!"
Leslie obeyed without protest. Signing to the Russian, the three walked backwards, slowly letting the damaged rope slip through their hands as they did so. There was just sufficient to allow a turn to be taken round one of the brackets supporting the nearmost runner of the Bird of Freedom.
As soon as this was done, Leslie and Petrovitch were able to assist Guy. Two bowlines on the bight were made in the new rope; one at the end, the other ten feet from it. Slipping through the latter, Guy began to walk towards the abyss, his comrades paying out as he went.
At about twenty feet from the crevasse Guy threw himself flat upon the ice. It creaked, but held. Cautiously he wriggled onwards, pushing the unused bight of the rope before him.
Right to the edge he made his way. Still the ice held. He could see Ranworth dangling inertly at the end of the first rope. More, he saw how badly the rope had chafed on the edge of the sharp ice. It seemed marvellous how the remaining strand could support a man of Ranworth's weight.
Fortunately the rope was no longer chafing. It had sunk into the ice and thus had formed a fairly smooth bed for itself, but any attempt to increase the strain would have been fatal.
Skilfully angling with the disengaged bight of the rope, Guy succeeded in getting it within reach of Ranworth's legs. Then slowly hauling up, he had the satisfaction of seeing the rope encircle the unfortunate man's chest.