Ross woke the next morning keenly aware of the seriousness of their
predicament. As soon as breakfast was over he set out to examine the
walls of the basin.
If he had any hope that there was a means of escape over the cliffs he
was soon disillusioned. Nowhere was there a break in the walls. They were
as perpendicular as a plumb-line and as smooth as basalt. Nothing but a
fly could have scaled those cliffs.
The only way out led through the narrow twisting canon below. And there
Larson Beebe lay in wait like a cat at a rat-hole. Ross realized that
there was little or no chance for him or Wong to get through the canon
alive. Beebe had all the advantage.
Ross returned to the house and sat down on the veranda. He ran over a
dozen possible schemes for escape, and in the end he had to conclude that
they were all impossible.
In fact, his only conclusion was that he would give what fortune he
possessed to have Larson Beebe’s neck within the grasp of his two hands.
That, however, seemed to be a remote possibility. If anything, the
situation would be reversed.
Ross had about exhausted his whole range of impossible schemes when Wong
appeared on the veranda. The Chinese wore an enigmatical smile on his
usually inscrutable face. It was patent that he was well pleased with
something.
“You come,” he addressed Ross. “Got something show.”
Ross rose and followed Wong, who led the way to one of the ’dobe
outbuildings. Opening the door, he motioned Ross to enter.
The room was a work-shop of sorts, but what instantly attracted attention
were two enormous kites leaning against the wall.
“You see?” inquired Wong.
“Yes, I see,” said Ross, “only I don’t. What’s the idea, Wong?”
“Mlisha Beebe kill everybody we go down canon. No can climb out. Wong
make klite. Klite climb out.”
“Guess I’m pretty thick, Wong. I don’t get it yet.”
“When Wong little bloy China he fly many klites. Not forget how. Fly
klite now. Klite lift lope top cliff. We climb lope. Go ’way.”
“By George, Wong, I believe you’ve got it,” cried Ross in admiration.
“But will it work?”
“Can do” nodded Wong.
“But how will you fasten the rope at the top of the cliff, Wong?”
“Wong good klite flyer. Two klites lift big loop. Drop loop over tree
top side cliff. Two ends hang dlown. Mlake slip knot. Pull one lope. All
done.”
“Wong, you’re a wonder! I believe it’ll work. Worth trying anyway.”
“Can do. Try tomollow if wind come.”
Ross hurried away to find Virginia Carver.
“Miss Carver,” he hailed her joyously, “Wong has got a scheme to get us
out of here, and I believe it will work. He has constructed two enormous
kites down there in the workshop. He claims they will lift a rope, and
he says he can drop it over one of those stunted pines at the top of the
cliff. We climb the rope and leave friend Beebe down in the canon to hold
the bag. Are you game?”
“Of course I am,” replied the girl, surprised that he should even
question her gameness.
“I knew you would be. We’re going to try it tomorrow. You had better make
two packs of food.”
“Two packs? Don’t I carry anything?” asked the girl.
“Miss Carver,” said Ross gravely, “it’s a long way to civilization, and
it is going to be a big tax on your strength to make it without carrying
anything.”
“I’ll make it,” said Virginia Carver, as she turned away.
The following morning Ross was eager for the experiment, but it was
nearly noon before a breeze came up strong enough to lift the kites.
Virginia Carver came out, clad in flannel shirt, whipcord breeches and
high laced boots. It was a costume well suited to the work ahead, but it
accentuated the girl’s slimness, made her appear almost frail. There was
no frailty there, though. Rather was she supple with the suppleness of a
braided cable, and the girl had the grace of a fine Toledo blade. Once
again Stanley Ross became acutely aware that Virginia Carver had become
an exceedingly important interest in his life.
Wong had instructed Ross in his scheme for escape. Ross saw at once that
he had not intended to lift a rope heavy enough to hold a human being.
Instead Wong had unearthed from one of the storehouses a very stout light
line.
The plan was to lift the bight of the line with the two kites and drop
it over a stunted pine growing out at an angle near the top of the north
cliff. A heavier rope could then be attached to one end of this and drawn
up and over the tree, making it possible to climb out.
Ross saw instantly that the plan was all right if the kites could be
manipulated. That was Wong’s job, and he seemed quite confident.
All three knew that they must work quickly. If Larson Beebe discovered
their scheme there was no telling what desperate action he might attempt.
Wong and Ross quickly got the first big kite into action. It rose
readily, but on attaining a height of fifty feet flopped drunkenly. It
did not fall, however—merely dipped and darted. This did not appear to
bother Wong at all. He simply gave the kite string to Virginia Carver to
hold while he quickly flew the second kite with Ross’s help.
Wong and Ross each took command of a kite now. Slowly paying out cord,
they allowed the kites to rise. When the kites had risen to a height
of about seventy-five feet the cords attached to the bight of the line
suddenly became taut and the line began to rise from the ground.
It was then that Ross saw that as a designer of kites Wong most
emphatically knew his business, for the instant the weight of the
line was borne by the kites in that instant they ceased their drunken
plungings and flew steadily.
Ross’s heart leaped within him, for he knew now that Wong’s scheme would
work and that they were going to circumvent Larson Beebe. Up, up, the
kites rose. A hundred feet! Two hundred! Five! A thousand!
The two kites were about thirty feet apart, and when it was obvious that
the line was higher than the cliff wall Wong and Ross began to walk
slowly forward. Their objective was a single low pine growing at an
outward angle near the top of the cliff. Aiming carefully at this, Wong
and Ross brought the kites to a position where an end of the line dangled
on each side of the tree and against the cliff. The bight of the line was
slightly above the tree, and the kites were pulling it forward.
“Missee, you grab ropes,” shouted Wong.
Quickly divining what was wanted of her, Virginia Carver grasped the ends
of the dangling lines.
“Let glo!” shouted Wong again.
Instantly he and Ross released the kite cords. The kites plunged
drunkenly down out of sight over the top of the cliff. The bight of the
line dropped neatly over the pine tree and slid down its trunk to the
roots. The thing was done!
Ross wanted to shout for pure joy. Elation showed in Virginia Carver’s
every feature. As for Wong, the author of this daring scheme, he merely
grinned, and went swiftly to work.
Somewhere in one of the buildings Wong had discovered a coil of light
rope. It had undoubtedly been brought in to be made up into lariats, for
it was very pliable and exceedingly strong—strong enough to support the
weight of a heavy man.
One end of this was fastened to a free end of the line over the tree.
When Wong pulled sharply on the opposite end of the smaller line it
slipped readily over the tree trunk. In a minute or two the end of the
rope had been pulled up over the tree trunk and back to the canon floor.
Thus was the light line replaced by the heavier one.
There was no place to anchor one of the rope ends so Wong simply tied a
loop in one end of the rope, passed the other end through it, making a
running noose, and quickly ran it up to the tree. Wong’s kites had proved
their worth. The means of escape was provided and ready.
“Wong go first,” said the Chinese. Without argument or permission, the
intrepid Wong was assuming the risk of proving the safety of the rope. By
way of explanation he added to Ross, “You shoulda no stlong. No can pull
Missee up, Wong can do.”
Wong grasped the rope in his hands, and with the agility of a cat,
feet on the canon wall, passed himself, hand over hand, up the face of
the cliff. It seemed hardly a minute before he was at the top and had
scrambled over the edge.
In a moment his head reappeared and he called down to Ross to send up the
food packs, canteens, and blankets. This was but the work of a moment,
and Wong quickly drew them to the top.
So far everything had gone well, and there was no sign of Beebe. It
looked as though they were going to make good their escape.
When Wong let the rope down again Ross fashioned a loop in the end of it,
which he passed over Virginia Carver’s head and secured it under her arms.
“Now, Miss Carver, if you will take hold of the rope with both hands I
think Wong can pull you up safely,” he said. “If you hit against the
cliff push yourself away with your feet.”
The girl did not answer him, but she smiled confidently. She accepted her
part in the escape with what appealed to Stanley Ross as being splendid
courage.
Slowly but very steadily, Wong began to raise the girl. The little
Chinese seemed to be made of steel, for, without stopping once or
increasing or decreasing the speed, he drew Virginia Carver to the top
of the cliff and helped her over the edge. It was a feat of which a man
twice his size might have been justly proud.
When the rope came down again Ross lost no time. A hasty glance toward
the mouth of the tiny canon revealed no sight of Beebe. Grasping the
rope, Ross began his ascent.
His shoulder bothered him somewhat, but it was not more than two or three
minutes before he, too, was at the cliff top.
They were free!
_CHAPTER TWELVE_