Part 27 (2/2)

That repet.i.tion of the word gives was caused by a peculiar catching of Gwyn's breath.

”I say,” he continued, as they paused, ”this is ever so much better than going up those wet ladders in the shaft. I shall never like that way.

Don't you remember looking down the shaft of that mine, where the hot, steamy mist came up, and the rounds of the ladder were all slippery with the grease that dropped from the men's candles stuck in their caps? I do. I said it would be like going down ladders of ice, and that you'd never catch me on them. Our way won't be hot and steamy like that was, because there'll always be a draught of fresh sea air running up from the adit. Now then, up you go again! I begin to want my dinner.”

Joe did not stir, and Gwyn's face turned ghastly, while his mouth opened ready for the utterance of a wild cry for help.

But the cry did not escape, for Gwyn's teeth closed with a snap. He felt that it would result in adding to his companion's despair.

He was once more master of himself.

”Now then!” he cried; ”I don't want to use that pin. Go on, old lazybones.”

The energy was transferred again, and Joe slowly struggled up another step, closely followed by Gwyn, and then remained motionless and silent.

”You stop and let yourself get cold again,” cried Gwyn, resolutely now.

”Begin once more, and don't stop. You needn't mind, old chap. I've got you as tight as tight. Now then, can't you feel how safe you are? Off with you! I shall always be ready to give you a nip and hold you on.

Now then, off!”

But there was no response.

”Do you hear! This isn't the place to go to sleep, Joe! Wake up! Go on! Never mind your feet being numb. Go on pulling yourself up with your hands. I'll give you a shove to help.”

No reply; no movement; and but for the spasmodic way in which the boy clung with his hands, as if involuntarily, like a bird or a bat clings in its sleep, he might have been p.r.o.nounced perfectly helpless.

”Now, once more, are you going to begin?” cried Gwyn, shouting fiercely.

”Do you hear?”

Still no reply, and in spite of appeal, threat, and at last a blow delivered heavily upon his shoulder, Joe did not stir, and Gwyn felt that their case was desperate indeed. Each time he had forced his companion to make an effort it was as if the result was due to the energy he had communicated from his own body; but now he felt in his despair as if a reverse action were taking place, and his companion's want of nerve and inertia were being communicated to him; for the chilly feeling of despair was on the increase, and he knew now that poor Joe was beyond helping himself.

”What can I do?” he thought, as he once more forced himself to the point of thinking and acting. To get his companion up by his own force was impossible. Even if he could have carried the weight up the ladder, it would have been impossible to get a good hold and retain it, and he already felt himself growing weak from horror.

What to do?

It would have been easy enough to climb over his companion and save his own life; but how could he ever look Major Jollivet or his father in the eyes again? The momentary thought was dismissed on the instant as being cowardly and unworthy of an English lad. But what to do?

If he could have left him for a few minutes, he could have either gone up or gone down, and shouted for help; but he knew perfectly well that the moment he left the boy to himself, he would fall headlong.

”What shall I do? What shall I do?” he groaned aloud, and a querulous cry from one of the gulls still floating around them came as if in reply.

”Oh, if I only had a gun,” he cried angrily. ”Get out, you beasts!

Who's going to fall!”

Then he uttered a cry for help, and another, and another; but the shouts sounded feeble, and were lost in s.p.a.ce, while more and more it was forced upon him that Joe was now insensible from fear and despair, his nerve completely gone.

What could he do? There seemed to be nothing but to hold on till Joe fell, and then for his father's sake, he must try and save himself.

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