"You are tired, Sidi Lieutenant. Let me hold the rope."
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh rose up at my side.
I looked at his tall black silhouette. I shuddered, but I did not let go of the rope on which I began to feel distant jerks.
"Give it to me," he repeated with authority.
And he took it from my hands.
I don't know what possessed me then. I was standing beside that great dark phantom. And I ask you, what could I,
with a dislocated shoulder, do against that man whose agile strength I already knew? What was there to do? I saw him buttressed against the wall, holding the rope with both hands, with both feet, with all his body, much better than I had been able to do.
A rustling above our heads. A little shadowy form.
"There," said Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh, seizing the little shadow in his powerful arms and placing her on the ground, while the rope, let slack, slapped back against the rock.
Tanit-Zerga recognized the Targa and groaned.