The Furnace of Gold | Page 9

to the trail up
above.
He deliberately rested and fostered his breath, not a trifle of which had
been jolted in violence from his body. Presently he raised his voice and
called out, as cheerfully as possible:
"Ship ahoy! Hullo--Miss Laughing Water!"
For a moment there was no response. Beth was to utterly overcome to
speak. She hardly dared believe it was his call she heard, issuing up
from the tomb. She feared that her hope, her frantic imagination, her
wish to have it so, had conjured up a voice that had no genuine
existence. Her lips moved, but made no audible sound. She trembled
violently. Van called again, with more of his natural power.
"Hullo! Hullo! Miss Beth--are you up there on the trail?"
"Oh, yes! Oh! what shall I do?" cried Beth in a sudden outburst of relief
and pent-up emotions. "Tell me what to do!"
Van knew she was rather near at hand. The bridge and trail were
certainly no more than twenty-five feet above his head. He could make
her hear with little effort.
"Brace up and keep your nerve," he instructed. "We're O.K. up to date.
Just ride ahead till you come to the 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.