As he spoke, he stooped, gripped the edge of the ledge with his hands, and let himself down gently. There was a knob of rock about seven feet down. He got his feet on this, then reached up for the bayonet which Ken held.
As before, he jammed this into a crevice so as to give himself something to hold by, then signalled Ken to follow.
Ken's heart was in his mouth. The projection seemed hardly large enough for one pair of feet, let alone two. But when he reached it he found that Roy had left it all for him. He himself had stepped off, driving his toes into a mere crevice alongside.
'Keep hold of the bayonet till I tell you to move,' came Roy's quiet voice. 'Afraid we'll have to leave it where it is. We can't shift it again. That's right.'
'Now get your fingers into that crack to the right. I'm going to move your feet for you.'
What Roy was doing Ken could not tell, and he dared not look. But a moment later he felt the big fellow's hands shifting his feet.
There came a sharp rattle of falling stones, a quick gasp.
A spasm of fright clutched him. For the moment he fully believed that Roy had fallen.
'Roy! he cried sharply. 'Roy!'
'All right, old man. It's quite all right. Just a chunk of rock broken out. The stuff's a bit rotten, but I've got good hand hold.'