The Furnace of Gold | Page 9

flat. Let Elsa hold your mare. Can you hear me plainly?"
"Oh! yes--yes--then what next?" replied the worried girl.
Van resumed calmly: "You'll find a rawhide rope on Elsa's saddle. Come back with that, on foot. Then I'll tell you what to do. Don't try to hurry; take your time, and don't worry." After a moment, as he got no reply, he added: "Have you started?"
Beth had not budged her mare, for terror of what she must do. She was fortifying all her resolution. She answered with genuine bravery:
"Yes--I--I'll do what you say."
She took up the reins. Her pale face was set, but she did not close her eyes to cross the dizzying brink. The mare went forward--and Elsa's bay resumed his patient tagging, up to and past the fateful place where a part of the shelf-edge, having been dislodged, had let Van's pony fall.
For ten age-long minutes Van waited on his ledge, feeling the treacherous, rotted stuff break silently away beneath his feet. The shrub, too, was showing an earthy bit of root as it slowly but certainly relinquished its hold on the substance which the crevice had divided. The man could almost have calculated how many seconds the shelf and the shrub could sustain their living burden.
Then Beth returned. She had left her maid with the horses; she held the lasso in her hand. To creep on foot along the granite bridge was taxing the utmost of her courage. She could not ascertain precisely where it was that the horseman was waiting below. She was guided only by the broken ledge, where pony and all had disappeared. Therefore, she called to him weakly.
"Mr. Van--Mr. Van--where are you?"
Van's heart turned over in his breast.
"Just below that split boulder in the trail," he answered cheerily. "Go to that."
A silence succeeded, then he heard, in tremulous accents:
"I'm here--but how am I going to tie the rope?"
Van answered distinctly, for much depended on precision.
"Uncoil it first. On one end there's an eye that runs the loop. Open the loop to a pretty good size and slip it over the smaller portion of the boulder. Then push it well down in the crevice, and pull it tight."
He knew that the rope was far too short to loop the larger rock and reach his hands. He waited while he thought she might be working--as indeed she was--and presently added: "Got that done?"
"Yes," she called. "Yes--but are you sure----"
His hold was giving way. He answered crisply:
"Now drop me the end. Don't wait!"
[Illustration: His hold was giving way.]
Beth had forgotten all danger to herself. She had ceased to tremble. She paid out the rope with commendable promptness.
"Does it reach?" she cried. "Can you get it?"
He could not. Though sufficiently long it was ten feet away, on his right. His seconds were growing fearfully precious.
"Just shift it over, more towards Elsa," he called, still calmly. "Move it about ten feet."
It began to approach him jerkily. It halted, then once more it moved. The shrub in his grasp gave out an inch, and was coming from its anchorage. Then his fist was closed on the rope.
"All right!" he called. "Let go--and stand aside!"
"But--oh, if the rock shouldn't hold!" cried the girl. "Are you sure it won't pull over?"
He was not at all certain of the boulder. This explained his directions, "stand aside!" If it came--it must not involve the girl. There was nothing for him but to trust to its weight against his own. He was strong. He began to come up, bracing a foot against the crumbling wall, winding the rope around one of his legs--or his leg around the rope, and resting whensoever he could.
Beth stood there, nearly as tense as the rope. Her brown eyes were fixed on the bedded boulder; her face was more gray than its bulk.
At the edge, where the lasso impinged upon the granite, small particles were breaking and falling ominously. Scarcely daring to breathe, as she felt how the man was toiling up from the maw of the chasm, Beth could not bear to look where he must come--if come he ever should.
It seemed an eternity of waiting. At last, when new misgivings had seized upon her heart, she heard his labored breathing. Even then she did not turn. She feared to watch his efforts; she feared to break the spell. A minute later she heard his even voice.
"It's a wonderful view--from down below."
The glad, eager light in her eyes, which his eyes met from the brink, put strength in both his arms. He came up to safety in an outburst of vigor that was nothing short of magnificent.
"Oh!" said the girl, and she leaned against the wall in a sudden need for support.
"I really had no intention of--deserting like that," panted Van, with a smile that was just a trifle forced.