“Hold on a second longer while I get my breath,” instructed the rescuer. There was no reply to this. Tad had no energy to waste in talk. Kitty remained very still while one might have counted fifty. Then, flattened against the wall of rock, his stockinged feet set on tiny roughened angles and the fingers of his left hand clutching a point of rock above his head, he reached his right hand upward until it was under Tad’s hanging foot.
“My hand is under your left foot, Tad,” he said quietly. “Find it.”
Very gingerly Tad moved the dangling rubber soled “sneaker” to and fro, until at last it settled into the palm of the upstretched hand.
“All right,” instructed Kitty. “Put your weight on it slowly.”
“Can you hold it?” asked Tad anxiously.
“Yes. All ready? Now!” He braced himself as the weight of Tad’s body came against him. His toes were cutting cruelly against the rough granite, and his left hand strained about its precarious hold.
“Now move your other foot further to your right and get a new grip with it. Straight along, Tad.”
There was a groan from above. “It’s numb,” said Tad. “I can’t feel anything.”
“Do as I say,” said Kitty gruffly. “Find the crevice with it. Got it?”