Even as she spoke joyfully, Ned came into sight, panting, perspiring, flushed, a coil of rope over a shoulder. He fairly staggered up the last of the ascent and across the small clearing, his eyes questioning Polly’s anxiously.
“He’s all right,” cried Polly. Ned exhaled a deep breath of relief and struggled to disencumber himself of the rope. The girl sprang to his aid.
“I broke a window in the shed down there,” panted Ned. “This was all I could find, but it’s good and strong.” He began with trembling fingers to fashion a noose.
“Oh, Ned,” faltered Polly, “it’s so short!”
“How long?” called Bob.
“Forty feet,” replied Ned. “Maybe more. It’s more than long enough!”
Polly explained hurriedly, and Ned’s face fell as he stared despairingly at the cliff’s edge. Then his shoulders went back. “We’ll get him up,” he said grimly. “We’ll get him up or I’ll go down with him!” He went on bunglingly with the noose. Bob and Laurie were talking beyond the edge.
“Rope’s too short for your scheme,” Bob said as cheerfully as he could. “Only about forty or fifty feet, Nod.”
“Wouldn’t do, eh?” Laurie asked after a moment’s silence.
“No, too short by thirty feet, I guess. Twenty, anyway. We’ll have to pull you up, old chap. We’ll manage it.”