After all, it was the thought of those two grinning men riding away in his hill-climbing car that jarred him most of all. Every time he pictured them sitting there in his seat and enjoying themselves so hugely, Gus would make a wry face and say something under his breath. Accustomed to having his own way pretty much all of the time, he chafed under the restraint much more than most boys would have done.
“I’ll follow them if I get out of this scrape—yes, to the end of the world, to get that car back again, and the money, too, if they haven’t spent it. I’ll never give it up, any more than they say the hungry wolf does once he strikes the trail of a stag in the snow. But somehow, I hate to climb over the edge of this little shelf and take the count. If only somebody would show up down there on the road, and give me a helping hand.”
He sat and looked as far as he could see the road between the trees and bushes that encompassed its borders, but there did not seem to be as much as a rabbit or a hedgehog moving down there. A shadow flitted past and caused Gus to raise his eyes.
“Hello! that’s an eagle, and a whipping big one at that!” he remarked as he saw a large bird swooping past, and heard a hoarse scream at the same time. “Oh! how easy he cuts through the air with those powerful wings of his. What wouldn’t I give right now to be able to fly like that! Why, I’d be out of this nasty scrape in a jiffy! And say, wouldn’t I overtake those fellows in a hustle, though?”
Just the bare thought gave him some satisfaction, and he smiled. It was the first time he had done anything but frown since the man beckoned to him to pull up at the fallen sapling laid across the narrow road.
His examination of the precipice had convinced Gus that, if he attempted anything at all, it would have to be through making use of his short rope to lower himself to the first crevice below. Here, if he could only manage to secure a slender hold for his feet, he might drag the doubled rope down and try again. The question was could this be done? If the task proved harder than he expected, his condition instead of improving would have become precarious.
He drew a long breath and tried to make up his mind. It was a struggle between his urgent desire for action, and the good sense that told him he would be foolish to undertake so terrible a risk.
Twice he started to let the rope trail over the edge of the rocky shelf; and then slowly he drew it up again as he found that it would not reach the first crevice unless let out at full length. And if he fastened it above in any way, it would be impossible to count on the rope for further work, so that he dared not venture to burn his bridges behind him.
As the minutes passed, he racked his brain trying to think up some clever method of overcoming the mountainous difficulties that stood in his way. The winding road looked further off than ever, in the simmering heat of the early afternoon. Never in all his life had Gus Merrivale wished for anything so much as that some one might show up down there, some one to whom he could make signals for help. Minute followed minute, without a break in the monotony.
“Seems like I’ve just got to choose between one of two things,” he finally declared with a ring of resolution in his voice. “It’s plain that I must stay on the ledge and wait and wait ever so long, or else climb over and try to skip down, hanging by my fingers and toes. I wish I could see ahead a little. It makes me dizzy to look down there and see what a pile of rocks I’d land on if I lost my hold. But I haven’t gone as far along the shelf over to the right as I might. Perhaps there’s a chance for me in that direction. Anyhow I’m going to crawl along and find out how things lie yonder.”