Roy Norton

“ On my affirmative answer I heard more noises, and a harsh creaking, then in a few moments a shape came within the light from my torch. It was James Dalrymple Wardrop, and the tough rawhide reatas were straining and stretching as if at any moment likely to part under his weight. In his hand he carried a pole that he reached out for me to grasp and I gave a mighty tug and pulled him over to the shelf, wondering it if would bear his weight, then fairly dragged him inside.
“Of all the reckless things I ever knew of a man doing, your trusting yourself to that line is the worst!” ”

“ I clung to the rock handle, momentarily panic-stricken with suspense, and my voice was tremulous and weak as I called: “Morgano! Doctor Morgano! Are you safe?”
“I’m safe enough,” came the reassuring but lugubrious reply from above, “but that infernal rawhide line has broken off where it was fastened and—dear me!—how on earth are we ever to get you up again?”
“The damned old imbecile!” growled Wardy. “Wants to know how we are to get back up again. That’s something I’d rather like to know myself!” ”

“ Wardrop’s voice called.
“That some one come down bringing some spare torch batteries and chalk or something with which to make guiding marks,” I called back.
“Good!” he replied, and then I heard a confused lot of echoes and sounds as if they were discussing something, followed by a shout of encouragement from above and Wardy’s voice, asking: “Do you wish to remain there, or shall we hoist you up?”
“I’ll wait here,” I replied. “But mark this: Whoever comes down had best bring a pole or a piece of rope with him so that he can throw it to me and I can pull him over to this footing.” ”