Simpson knew he could trust to these belts. They were not the cheap shoddy article, but well-made ones of well-seasoned leather. The buckles, too, were strong and reliable, so that the Leader of the "Wolves" had good cause to have perfect faith in the rope of belts.
Hand over hand he descended, until he knew that he was literally almost at the end of his tether. Then, proceeding slowly and cautiously, and keeping his feet rigid, he continued his downward course till his hand encountered the buckle joining the two lowermost belts.
"I must risk it and drop," he thought, finding himself unable to touch the side of the pit. "It cannot be so much farther to the bottom."
Relaxing the muscles of his legs in order to bear the shock with the least risk of broken limbs, Simpson released his hold and dropped—a distance of less than two feet. With a sigh of relief he drew a box of matches from his pocket and struck a light.
Lying almost at his feet was the unfortunate Coventry minor. The lad was senseless and bleeding from a cut just above the left ear.
There was no time to be lost. It was imperative that the luckless Scout should be brought up to the open air as quickly as possible.
By the aid of another match, Simpson discovered the position of the line of niches. Then, unfastening the unconscious lad's belt, he refastened it round his chest just beneath his arm-pits. This done, the Leader clasped the buckle at the end of his emergency rope to the ring in Coventry minor's belt.
"Haul up, slowly and steadily!" he shouted.
Ascending by means of the niches, Simpson accompanied his senseless charge, steadying the lad's body to prevent it swaying against the rock, till at length to his great relief Neale and Fraser grasped the rescued Scout and grew him clear of the shaft.
"Is he dead?" asked the unfortunate lad's brother, anxiously.