SURROUNDED BY PERILS.
“This is a pretty kettle of fish, I must say!” Gus muttered as he heard
the last low grumble of the runabout die away up the ascent, proving
that the hoboes had indeed abandoned him there to his fate.
He started in to examine his surroundings more carefully than before;
but he found very little encouragement. The sheer wall arose for
possibly a dozen feet above his head, with not the slightest sign of any
projection that might serve him in an endeavor to reach the mountain
road where the protecting railing lay.
It is a sudden emergency like this that shows what a fellow is made of.
Young Merrivale had certain qualities about him that might be deemed
objectionable in the eyes of boys who are ready to give and take. He
wanted to be a leader, or not play. In the past, indeed, he had been
more or less domineering in his treatment of those with whom he
condescended to associate.
He was no coward, and while still burning with indignation toward the
pair of rascals who had taken not only the pay money of the quarrymen
but his runabout as well, his one thought was to get out of this scrape
some way or other, and then follow them. He gritted his teeth as he
thought of the glory that would be his could he only overtake the
wretches and bring back the stolen property.
If not above, perhaps he might find safety below. It was, of course, a
long way down to the bottom of the declivity. He had climbed steeps
before, however, where the valuable granite had been blasted from the
face of the mountain, leaving great gaps and towering cliffs where even
a nimble-footed goat would find it difficult to discover safe footing.
So Gus crawled to the edge of the ledge and looked over.
“Whew! it would take a steeple-jack to make that drop without breaking
every bone in his body!” he told himself when he saw how far below lay
the rocky base of the precipice, and marked the lack of friendly
crevices and protuberances.
With his teeth still firmly pressed together, he forced himself to
examine every foot of the surface of the hard rock as far as it could be
seen from his aerie. “If my rope were only two or three times as long as
it is, I could see where I might make the riffle,” he went on to say,
disconsolately, “but with only ten or twelve feet to depend on, it looks
mighty slim.”
Crawling along the ledge, he tried to discover more hopeful signs from
other vantage points, but with little success. A weak boy would have
given it up then and there, and crouching on the shelf waited for some
one whose attention he could attract, to come along the road far below.
Apparently, young Merrivale was not built that way. The stubborn streak
was in evidence as shown by his continued activity. He was positively
determined to take great chances, if only he could discover the spot
where a promising start might be made.
“I’ve got to be careful,” he told himself several times, “because once I
break away from up here there’s no coming back again. And it strikes me
I’d feel like a fly on a window pane if I was flattened out against that
rock down there, and no chance to go up or down. Ugh! this ledge is
better than nothing at all. And if I made a miss, there’d be a heap of
work for old Doctor Kane of Oakvale. So perhaps I ought to go slow, and
not jump from the frying pan into the fire.”
After all, it was the thought of those two grinning men riding away in
his hill-climbing car that jarred him most of all. Every time he
pictured them sitting there in his seat and enjoying themselves so
hugely, Gus would make a wry face and say something under his breath.
Accustomed to having his own way pretty much all of the time, he chafed
under the restraint much more than most boys would have done.
“I’ll follow them if I get out of this scrape—yes, to the end of the
world, to get that car back again, and the money, too, if they haven’t
spent it. I’ll never give it up, any more than they say the hungry wolf
does once he strikes the trail of a stag in the snow. But somehow, I
hate to climb over the edge of this little shelf and take the count. If
only somebody would show up down there on the road, and give me a
helping hand.”
He sat and looked as far as he could see the road between the trees and
bushes that encompassed its borders, but there did not seem to be as
much as a rabbit or a hedgehog moving down there. A shadow flitted past
and caused Gus to raise his eyes.
“Hello! that’s an eagle, and a whipping big one at that!” he remarked as
he saw a large bird swooping past, and heard a hoarse scream at the same
time. “Oh! how easy he cuts through the air with those powerful wings of
his. What wouldn’t I give right now to be able to fly like that! Why,
I’d be out of this nasty scrape in a jiffy! And say, wouldn’t I overtake
those fellows in a hustle, though?”
Just the bare thought gave him some satisfaction, and he smiled. It was
the first time he had done anything but frown since the man beckoned to
him to pull up at the fallen sapling laid across the narrow road.
His examination of the precipice had convinced Gus that, if he attempted
anything at all, it would have to be through making use of his short
rope to lower himself to the first crevice below. Here, if he could only
manage to secure a slender hold for his feet, he might drag the doubled
rope down and try again. The question was could this be done? If the
task proved harder than he expected, his condition instead of improving
would have become precarious.
He drew a long breath and tried to make up his mind. It was a struggle
between his urgent desire for action, and the good sense that told him
he would be foolish to undertake so terrible a risk.
Twice he started to let the rope trail over the edge of the rocky shelf;
and then slowly he drew it up again as he found that it would not reach
the first crevice unless let out at full length. And if he fastened it
above in any way, it would be impossible to count on the rope for
further work, so that he dared not venture to burn his bridges behind
him.
As the minutes passed, he racked his brain trying to think up some
clever method of overcoming the mountainous difficulties that stood in
his way. The winding road looked further off than ever, in the simmering
heat of the early afternoon. Never in all his life had Gus Merrivale
wished for anything so much as that some one might show up down there,
some one to whom he could make signals for help. Minute followed minute,
without a break in the monotony.
“Seems like I’ve just _got_ to choose between one of two things,” he
finally declared with a ring of resolution in his voice. “It’s plain
that I must stay on the ledge and wait and wait ever so long, or else
climb over and try to skip down, hanging by my fingers and toes. I wish
I could see ahead a little. It makes me dizzy to look down there and see
what a pile of rocks I’d land on if I lost my hold. But I haven’t gone
as far along the shelf over to the right as I might. Perhaps there’s a
chance for me in that direction. Anyhow I’m going to crawl along and
find out how things lie yonder.”
On hands and knees, the boy made slow progress, for the ledge kept
getting narrower the further he proceeded. He knew that he must not
continue until it would be a difficult job for him to turn around when
he wished to retreat. Yet there was always the spur of hope goading him
to keep creeping just a little further. He fancied that the surface of
the precipice was not quite as smooth over this way, and had almost made
up his mind that if he did attempt the risky descent it must be in this
quarter.
Then that shadow flickered past him again. Of course, it was the eagle
winging its way through space. Gus fancied that the great bird must have
become curious about his presence there. Perhaps it had a nest back of
some crag not far away, and might take a notion that this cliff climber
was a venturesome egg hunter trying to rob its mate of the contents of
his retreat.
This thought caused Gus to bring his forward progress to a sudden halt.
He even turned his head to see what the eagle might be up to, and
counted himself fortunate in so doing, for it gave him a chance to drop
flat on his face, and thus escape being struck by the swooping bird.
“Here, get out, hang you!” shouted the now alarmed boy as he realized
that in some way his actions were extremely objectionable to the eagle,
which had started to make war upon him. “Don’t be a fool! I’m not after
your nest this trip. Why, I wouldn’t give a snap for all the eagle’s
eggs this side—whew! there he comes at me again. Seems like my troubles
have only begun. And this ledge is mighty narrow over here!”
Again he flattened himself out, and only in time to miss connection with
the passing bird. He could feel the wind made by those broad pinions as
they swept through space just above him, and he shuddered to imagine
what was likely to happen should he be struck fairly and squarely by
such a heavy object.
The boy no longer thought of pushing on. His one desire now was to crawl
back and reach a spot where the ledge, being wider, offered him better
opportunities for defending himself, should the angry eagle persist in
his attack.
Three other times did he have to duck and narrowly escape disaster
before he arrived at the spot where his rope lay. An idea had come into
his head, of which he hastened to avail himself. Quickly clutching the
rope, he passed it around his body and then managed to slip a fold over
a friendly knob of stone that projected from the hard face of the wall
back of him.
In this way he fancied that he had insured himself against a sudden
shove into space, should the eagle manage to strike him with its wing in
swooping past. He also picked up a loose rock which he meant to use as a
means of defense. If, by some lucky blow, he could disable that great
bird, it would be to his advantage.
The next time an attack came, the boy struck out, for the first time
taking the aggressive. He felt a shock that almost knocked all the
breath from his body; but it gave him a keen sense of satisfaction to
know that he had returned the blow of the eagle after a fashion, though
his shoulder where that powerful pinion had struck home ached as though
it had been broken.
How long could he hold out against the furious bird that was rapidly
losing all sense of caution? Gus must have been a sight to have made his
mother almost faint, could she have seen him. His nose had stopped
bleeding, but there were gory marks in evidence all over his face. His
cheek was more or less puffed up as the result of a glancing blow from
the wing of the eagle at the time its full force descended upon his
shoulder. Still, he was game to the core. With teeth tightly clenched
and eyes blazing with excitement, he crouched there awaiting the next
move of the attacking bird of prey.
“I got the hang of things that time,” he said to himself, though even
the sound of his own voice gave him a little encouragement, “and I know
how to hit out better after this. Just come on and try it again, you
crazy thing, and see what you get, that’s all! Two can play at the give
and take game, you’ll find. Here’s a bigger rock I’m going to use, and
look out for yourself, old fellow!”
Despite his brave words, the cowering lad watched the evolutions of the
monarch of the air with a sense of deep anxiety. He inwardly hoped and
prayed that the eagle might determine it had had enough of the fight,
and fly away. In fact, Gus was more than willing to call it a draw, so
that he might be let alone to grapple with his other troubles.
“I sure believe he’s going to swing in at me again!” muttered the lad,
noticing the suggestive actions of the great bird.
He was not kept in doubt long for the eagle once more headed straight
toward the spot where Gus crouched awaiting the attack. Gus drew in a
full breath, and with every nerve strained to the utmost tension, raised
the hand that gripped the rock, striving thus to protect his head
against the stroke of that terrible pinion.