Part 17 (2/2)

”Yes. Quick.”

Directly after, there was a rattling and falling of tiny bits of shale, which went on as Samson shouted--

”She won't come no farther.”

”Draw the line and start it again.”

Samson started the stone after hauling it up a bit, and this time it glided out of the angle in which it had rested, increased its speed, bringing down quite a shower of shale, and then there was a dull thud.

”That's it, Samson. I've got it.”

”Good job, for there ain't much more.”

”There's quite enough,” cried Fred, as he rapidly set the stone loose, and tied the line to the rope's end. ”Now, then, haul away.”

”No, no, my lad; I tell you it won't bear you. You'd only have a nasty tumble.”

”Haul!”

”And I shall be blamed.”

”Will you haul? Oh, only wait till I come up!”

Samson gave quite a s.n.a.t.c.h at the line, and drew it up rapidly, while the boys waited to hear what he would say when he found their meaning.

”Why couldn't you have said as you meanted that!” he grumbled. ”I see now. Want me to make this here fast to the pole.”

”Yes, of course; then we can climb up.”

”To be sure you can. I see now.”

”Make it quite fast, Samson.”

”I will, sir. And try it, too,” he added under his breath, as he knotted the rope fast, seized and drew it tight, and then lowering himself into the crevice, he began to glide down rapidly, sending a tremendous shower of shale on to Fred's head, and making him start away just as he had drawn the rope tight ready to ascend.

”Why, what are you doing?” he shouted.

”Coming down, sir,” panted Samson; and the next minute he was on the broad shelf in company with nearly enough disintegrated rock to bury the skeleton of the sheep.

”Well, 'pon my word, young gentlemen,” cried the gardener, ”you've got rum sort of ideas. Wouldn't no other place please you for a game but this?”

”We wanted to explore it,” exclaimed Fred; ”to see if there's a way down to the sh.o.r.e.”

”Well, you can hear there is, lads. But why didn't you bring a lanthorn?”

”I wish we had.”

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