The intent of the tall scout had been good, but it did not suffice to bring the girl from a position of deadly danger to one of safety.
The sudden descent of Wild Bill from above the shelf caused Holmes to relax his grip on the form of his victim.
Her senses had returned a moment before Holmes lifted her above his head. As the villain fell over under the weight of the savagely excited scout, she slipped over the edge of the precipice.
But she did not fall to the bottom. She clutched at the uneven surface of the side wall as she went, and halfway down her belt caught on a projection, and she hung there, head and feet pointing downward.
Her terrified eyes met the upturned gaze of the palefaced king of scouts.
“Raise yourself if you can,” he shouted encouragingly, “and grip that rock that has caught you.”
The attempt was made and was a failure. The girl was too weak to exert more than a small portion of her normal strength.
“Rest a bit and try again,” counseled the scout. “If you can hold on a few minutes, I’ll get you onto solid ground.”
“Can’t I do something?” said Carl Henson, his handsome face twitching with agony.
“Yes,” was the quick response; “you can run to the ponies, where Holmes left them, and get the reatas.”