Part 27 (1/2)

”Do you hear, old Jolly-wet? I say, you know, this isn't the sort of place for playing larks. Wait till we're up, and I'll give you such a warming!”

Then the chill of horror came back, for Joe said in a whisper, whose tones swept away all possibility of his playing tricks,--

”I'm not larking. I can't stir.”

”I tell you you are larking,” cried Gwyn, fiercely. ”Such nonsense! Go on up, or I'll drive a pin into you right up to the head.”

The cold chill increased now, and Gwyn shuddered, for Joe said faintly,--

”Do, please; it might give me strength.”

The vain hope that it might be all a trick was gone, and Gwyn was face to face with the horror of their position. He too looked down, and there was the platform, with the water splas.h.i.+ng and glittering in the suns.h.i.+ne as it struck upon the rock; and he knew that no help could come from that direction, for Hardock was at the pump in the shaft. He looked up to the edge of the cliff, but no one was there, for the people were all gathered about the top of the mine, and were not likely to come and look over and see their position. If help was to come to the boy above him, that help must come from where he stood; and, with the recollection of his own peril when he was being hauled up by the rope, forcing itself upon him, he began to act with a feeling of desperation which was ready to rob him of such nerve as he possessed.

A clear and prompt action was necessary, as he knew only too well, and, setting his teeth hard together, he went on up without a word, step by step, as he leaned back to the full stretch of his arms, and reached to where he could just force his feet, one on either side of his companion's, the spell of the ladder just affording sufficient width, and then pressing Joe close against the rounds with his heavily-throbbing breast, he held on in silence for a few moments, trying to speak, but no words would come.

Meanwhile, Joe remained silent and rigid, as if half insensible; and Gwyn's brain was active, though his tongue was silent, battling as he was with the question what to do.

”Oh, if those gulls would only keep away!” he groaned to himself, for at least a dozen came softly swooping about them, and one so close that the boy felt the waft of the air set in motion by its wings.

Then the throbbing and fluttering at his heart grew less painful, and the power to speak returned.

With a strong endeavour to be calm and easy, he forced himself to treat the position jauntily.

”There you are, old chap,” he cried; ”friend in need's a friend indeed.

I could hold you on like that for a month--five minutes,” he added to himself. Then aloud once more. ”Feel better?”

There was no reply.

”Do you hear, stupid--feel better?”

A low sigh--almost a groan--was the only answer, and Gwyn's teeth grated together.

”Here, you, Joe,” he said firmly. ”I know you can hear what I say, so listen. You don't want for us both to go down, I know, so you've got to throw off the horrible feeling that's come over you, and do what I say.

I'm going to hold you up like this for five minutes to get your wind, and then you've got to start and go up round by round. You can't fall because I shall follow you, keeping like this, and holding you on till you're better. You can hear all that, you know.”

Joe bent his head, and a peculiar quivering, catching sigh escaped his lips.

”It's all nonsense; you want to give up over climbing a ladder such as we could run up. 'Tisn't like being on the rocks with nothing to hold on by, now, is it? Let's see; we're half of the way up, and we can soon do it, so say when you feel ready, and then up you go!”

But after a guess at the s.p.a.ce of time named, Joe showed no inclination to say he was ready, and stood there, pressed against the ladder, breathing very feebly, and Gwyn began to be attacked once more by the chill of dread.

He fought it back in his desperation, and in a tone which surprised himself, he cried,--

”Now, then! Time's up! Go on!”

To his intense delight, his energy seemed to be communicated to his companion; and as he hung back a little, Joe reached with one hand, got a fresh hold there with the other, and, raising his right foot, drew himself slowly and cautiously up, to stand on the next spell.

”Cheerily ho!” sang out Gwyn, as he followed. ”I knew, I knew you could do it. Now then! Don't stop to get cold. Up you go before I get out that pin.”

Joe slowly and laboriously began again, and reached the next step, but Gwyn felt no increase of hope, for he could tell how feeble and nerveless the boy was. But he went on talking lightly, as he followed and let the poor fellow feel the support of his breast.

”That's your sort. Nine inches higher. Two nine inches more--a foot and a half. But, I say, no games; don't start off with a run and leave me behind. You'd better let me go with you, in case your foot gives-- gives way again.”