is teeth as well as his right-hand.

"Better let me come, my lad."

"No," said Gwyn, shortly.

"Ready?" came from above.

"Not quite, father. I'll say when."

That last demand gave the final fillip to the lad's nerves, and, taking
tightly hold of the spell above Joe's head with both hands, he raised
his own legs till they came level with Joe's loins, and bestriding him
as if on horseback, he crooked his legs and ankles round the sides of
the ladder, held on by forcing his toes round a spell, and then, with
his hands free, he hung back, and quickly knotted the rope about Joe's
chest.

"Steady, my lad! Be ready to take hold," said Hardock, whose face was
now streaming with perspiration, and his hands wet, as he looked up at
the perilous position of Gwyn. Then, obeying a sudden thought, he
loosened one hand, snatched off his cap, threw it down, and took three
steps up the ladder, raising himself so that he could force his head
beneath the lad, with the result that he gave him plenty of support,
relieving him of a great deal of the strain on his muscles, for during
the next minute he was, as it were, seated upon the mining captain's
head.

"That's better," panted Gwyn.

"Make a good knot, lad," growled Hardock; and all was perfectly silent
at the edge of the cliff above them, for every movement was being
attentively watched.

"Hah!" sighed Gwyn, as he tightened the last knot.

"Quite safe?" asked Hardock.

"Yes, quite."

"What next?"

"Get down!"

"Are you right?"

"Yes."

Hardock yielded very slowly for a while, and then stopped and raised
himself again.

"What yer doing?"

"Getting out my knife. He's lashed to the spell."

"Oh!"

Gwyn's hands were dripping wet, and, as he tried to force his right into
his pocket, he had a hard struggle, for it stuck to the lining, the
strain of his position helping to resist its passage. But at last he
forced it in, to find to his horror that the knife was not in that
pocket, and he had a terrible job to drag out his hand.

"Can't get at my knife," he panted.

"All right; have mine," was growled, and Hardock took out and opened his
own. "Here you are."

The boy blindly lowered his hand for the knife, and not a whisper was
heard in those critical moments. For every movement was scanned, and
the Colonel was lying on his chest, straining his eyes, as he waited to
give the order to haul up.

Gwyn gripped the knife, a sharp-pointed Spanish blade, and