He waited for a gust of wind to part the reeds and swamp grass and show him the spot for which he should aim. Presently it came, and almost simultaneously a frightful shriek from below reached his ears. Shuddering, he fixed his eyes on the spot, grasped the handle struts, lifted the machine, and plunged from the cliff.
The instant he was off, he lowered himself until his armpits caught the struts, thus giving his body a longer and freer play. And that happened which always happens in such cases. A gust of wind caught the glider behind and threw it around. By luck, or instinct, or both, Harry had the plane on an even keel and was ready to counteract the lurch. If it had been at either angle, it would have crashed to the ground. As it was, he kept his equilibrium by keeping his head. And he had now the full pendulum length of his body to control his balance.
His object was to coast down. But his position in the air was most precarious, for he had not the sustaining power of the wind blowing against him. On the contrary, coming from behind, it continually upset his steering and balancing calculations, tilting his planes this way and that, and once almost turning the machine over. Once he found himself facing the cliff and sailing straight toward it, till by a series of sudden jerks of his body he managed to haul the glider about. The wind died for a few moments, and free from its diverting and dangerous influence, he brought his forward edges slightly downward and the machine coasted obediently. If the calm would hold for just a few minutes, he thought desperately, he might make a safe landing. And it did hold, just as the moon had come out once before to help this boy who knew how to help himself.
Down from the turmoil of choppy, rebounding air, out from lurching and spinning like a top, came the glider, the long pendulum of Harry’s body hanging loosely in it, now bending this way, now that, now forward, now back, in assured and masterful control; and, obedient to the indomitable will and skill and courage that held it as with a tight rein, it coasted easily downward, straight for the spot he was aiming for. It had reared, it had lurched, it had turned. And now, like the horse that recognizes that it has met its master, it meekly obeyed. If the back wind held off for just a moment more, he might be in time. And the back wind, being a true sport, did hold off, just to see how this lithe, slender boy would manage it.
The glider came to earth, pulling the tall swamp grass like a great comb, and settled its broad area upon the treacherous quicksand. Harry had drawn himself up and stood, stooping, between the long planes, looking this way and that, and calling. The thought that he might be too late almost unnerved him. In his descent, he had seen nothing of the figure, but had headed for a tree which stood near by. And his alighting had been accurate, for not two feet from the plane he now saw the head, with two arms above it. Evidently the lateral resistance of the arms had been lost through weakness, for they were almost perpendicular.
Grasping one of the stanchions with one hand, he leaned over and seized the sinking figure by the collar. Then, grasping as much of its clothing as he could in his hand, he pulled with all his might and main. He succeeded in lifting the boy the least bit. Then he separated one of the guy wires and with it lashed himself to the stanchion. Leaning over, and exerting all the strength of both arms, he succeeded in slowly raising the buried body. It was a terrific tussle, but he had made up his mind to do it, and he did it.
A few minutes later, panting, exhausted, almost on the verge of collapse himself, he was kneeling over the prostrate form which lay on the lower plane, and wiping the mud from its face. The eyes looked up, staring, terrified, into his.
“Who—what is it?” said the voice, weakly, half consciously.
“It’s just Harry, Kid—I found a way, that’s all.”
