He had scarcely got to the summit of the hill when he shouted out, “Here come some suspicious-looking fellows; but they are a good way astern at present, so that we must somehow or other leave them on this side of the river.” After taking another look, to assure himself that he was not mistaken, he rejoined us, and we hurried along the bank.
We had not gone far when Antonio exclaimed, “I see a tarabita! It will serve our purpose; and we must take care that it does not help our enemies across.”
He pointed, as he spoke, towards a long thin rope thrown across from one cliff to the other. On getting up to it we found the bridge—for so it might be called—consisted of a long rope made of hides, the ends secured by stakes driven into the earth; to this a sort of basket was suspended, with two smaller ropes fastened to it—the one reaching to the side we were on, the other to the opposite bank, where a man—apparently the guardian of the so-called bridge—was seated on a log smoking. Antonio shouted to attract his attention; and getting up, he made a sign for one of us to enter.
“You go first, Señor Ricardo,” said Antonio to Uncle Richard.
But the latter insisted on going last, and made me
and Lion get into the basket. The bridge-keeper immediately began to haul away, and I soon found myself dangling over a fearful chasm. I was, however, quickly across; and, by means of a rope passing through a block on the side I had left, the basket was immediately drawn back.
Antonio was passed over in the same way, and joined me.
Uncle Richard had, in the meantime, gone to the height overlooking the path behind us, but he soon hurried back and took his seat in the basket.
“Tell the old Indian to be smart in hauling me across,” he shouted out.