Something swept from side to side along the face of the cliff above
him. It tapped the rock close over his head. He looked up and saw a
rope. He could not see over the rounded brink of the cliff, but he had
no need. There was a rescuer above him who knew his desperate
situation. Could it be Blake? Surely not! He must have perished in the
frightful vortex of the tunnel.

The rope swung lower. Now it was within reach. Ashton made a clutch as
it swept over him and caught its end. He gave a tug. At once the line
slackened down to him. He felt something in his palm, twisted between
the rope strands. He looked and saw that it was a piece of folded
paper. He opened it and found written a terse sentence in Blake's bold
clear hand:

Tie rod to line and climb.

Why should he tie the splintered level rod to the rope? Of what
possible use could it be in climbing the precipices? But even while
Ashton asked himself the questions he obeyed Blake's directions. The
water lapped up over his chin as he tied the knot. He pulled heavily
on the rope. It gave a little way, and then tautened. He reached up
and began to climb, hand over hand, with desperate speed.

[Illustration: Another desperate clutch at the rope--still another]

Thirty feet above the water his strength was almost outspent, but he
struggled to raise himself one more time, and then another. To pause
meant to slip back and perish. Another upward heave. The rope here
bent in over the rounding cliff. Hardly could he force his fingers
between it and the rock. Yet if only he could get his knee up on the
sharp slope! He heaved again, his face purple with exertion, the veins
swelling out on his forehead as if about to burst.

At last! his knee was up and braced against the rock. Another
desperate clutch at the rope--another heave--still another. The cliff
edge was rounding back. Every upward hitch was easier than the one
before. Now he was scrambling up on toes and knees; now he could rise
to his feet.

The line led across a waterworn ledge and downward. Ashton peered
over, and saw the senseless body of Blake wedged against the other
side of the ledge. About it, close below the arms, the line was
knotted fast.

Ashton stared wonderingly at the still, white face of the unconscious
man. It was covered with cold sweat. A peculiar twist in the sprawling
left leg caught his attention. He looked--and understood. Panting with
exertion, he staggered down the