The Black Tor Part 11

"It will take a long time to get down like this," he thought; "and perhaps he'll send below to meet me at the bottom. Perhaps that is what he has already done. But never mind; I shall have done as I liked, and not obeyed his insolent orders. Let him see, too, that I'm quite at home on the rocks, and can do as I like. Wonder whether I shall get Master Rayburn's egg down safely! Not if they throw a stone down upon my head.--Now for it."

He had reached another comparatively easy place for descending from the course of blocks on which he stood, when he suddenly found himself embarra.s.sed, not by the egg, but by the young birds, which nearly upset his equilibrium by beginning all at once to struggle and flap vigorously with their half-fledged wings.

The lad's first impulse, as he clung to the ledge, was to tear the birds from his belt and throw them down; but his spirit revolted from the cruelty of the proceeding, and his vanity helped to keep the trophies of his daring where they were.

"It would look as if I was afraid," he said to himself; and lowering one foot, he felt for a safe projection, found one, and his other foot joined the first. A few seconds later his hands were holding the ledge on which he had just been standing, but his chin was level with them, and his feet were feeling for the next ledge below, but feeling in vain.

He was disappointed, for experience had taught him that this course of stones would be about the same thickness as the others, and yet he could find no crack, not even one big enough to insert his toes.

But he was quite right; the range of stones in that stratum was just about the same thickness as the others, but the crack between them and the next in the series, the merest line, over which his feet slipped again and again, giving him the impression that they were pa.s.sing over solid stone; and the birds chose this awkward moment to renew their struggling and screaming.

"You miserable little wretches," he muttered; "be quiet! Well, it might be worse. I should have been in a sad pickle if the old birds had chosen this moment to attack me."

He hung in the same position, with his chin resting on the ledge, as well as his hands, till the birds were quiet again, and then wondering whether Ralph Darley was still watching, he slowly let his muscles relax, and his body subside, till he hung at full stretch, seeking steadily the while for foot-hold, but finding none, and forced now to look down between his chest and the rock, to see how far the next ledge might be.

To his disgust, it was quite two feet lower, and it was forced upon him that unless he could climb back to the ledge upon which his hands were clasped, he must let himself drop to the resting-place below.

It was no time for hesitation, and condensing his energies upon what he knew to be a difficult task, he drew himself up by strong muscular contraction till his chin once more rested between his hands, and then grasped the bitter fact that to get up and stand upon the ledge was impossible; it was too narrow, and he could find no foot-hold to help.

Accepting the position, he let himself sink again to the full length of his arms, hung motionless for a few moments, and then, keeping himself perfectly rigid, allowed his fingers to glide over the stone, and dropped the two feet to the ledge below, perfectly upright and firm. In all probability he would have found hand-hold the next moment, but, scared anew by the rush through the air, the young ravens began to flap their wings violently, and that was sufficient to disturb the lad's equilibrium. He made a desperate effort to recover it, but one foot gave way, and he fell, sc.r.a.ping the edge.

Another desperate effort, and he clung to the ledge for a brief moment or two, and then a yell arose from above, as he went down a few feet and felt what seemed a violent blow against his side. The next instant his hands had closed upon the tough stem of a stunted yew, and he was hanging there, hitched in the little branches, saved from falling farther, but unable to move from the fear of tearing the shrub from its root-hold in a crack of the cliff, where there was not a trace of anything else to which he could cling.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW RALPH SECURED THE WOLF'S CUB.

The perspiration broke out in great drops upon Mark Eden's face; and for some minutes he hung there, expecting moment by moment that each was his last, for he knew that he could do nothing, and that he must not stir hand or foot.

And now he began to realise how mad his attempt had been. Better far that he had resigned himself to circ.u.mstances, and climbed back to the top. But even then he felt he could not have done this. It would have been like humbling himself to an enemy of his house, and a flush of pride came into his pallid cheeks as he felt that he had boldly played his part. Then a sense of misery and despair crept over him as he thought of home, of his father and sister, and their sorrow when they knew of his fate.

All that pa.s.sed off, and a flush of anger and indignation made his temples throb, for he distinctly heard Nick Garth say,--

"Why not? Heave it down yourself, then, and put him out of his misery."

What else was said he could not make out; voices were in hurried converse evidently a short distance back from the edge of the cliff, and then Mark recognised Ralph's tones, as he said huskily,--

"Can you hold on?"

A bitter defiant taunt came to Mark's lips, and he cried,--

"Your doing, coward! Are you satisfied with your work?"

There was no answer, but the hurried murmur came over the edge of the cliff again, followed by what sounded like angry commands, and then all was silent for a few moments.

"Don't move," cried Ralph then. "I've sent for help. They've gone for ropes. One will be here directly. I sent for it before. Can you hold on?"

Mark made no reply, for no words would come. Hope had sprung up at the possibility of escape, for life seemed then to be very sweet, but there was a bitterness to dull the bright thought, for the lad felt that it was the hated enemy of his house who was trying to help.

Then a dull feeling of apathy, as if he had been half stunned, came over him as he hung there in a terribly cramped position, with his face pressed against the wall.

And now, as if his hearing had become sharpened, the murmur of the rushing river came up quite loudly, and the wind seemed to be gathering force, while all this was, as it were, preparatory to his falling headlong down. Then he must have lost his senses for some little time, for the next thing he heard was a voice crying out, in tones full of despair,--

"Too short, too short, Ram!"

"Ay, so it be. Good ten foot."

"Could I help him if you lowered me down?"

"Lower you down? Are you mad? I couldn't hold you; and you'd break your neck."

Mark heard every word now, for his senses had suddenly recovered their tone and something more.

Then what seemed to be another long s.p.a.ce of time elapsed, and Ralph shouted to him,--

"This rope is too short, but there'll be another here soon."

Mark could make no reply, and he hung there, listening to the murmur of voices once more. Then the rush of the river sounded like the distant boom of thunder. There was a loud _cizz_, _cizz_, going on somewhere on the cliff face from a cricket, and the birds were singing more loudly than he ever remembered to have heard them before.

Once more his senses must have left him and come back, for he heard the voice above louder than ever, followed by Ralph shouting,--

"Can you tie the rope round you?"

Mark could not answer for some little time; then his lips parted, and he gasped out the one word,--

"No."

A sharp rustling followed, as of a rope being rapidly drawn up. Then it was lowered again; and as Mark strained his eyes round into the left corners to get a glimpse, he saw a loop swinging to and fro, and it struck him again and again; but those who lowered it, in the hope of noosing the lad and drawing him up, soon found that the bush and the sufferer's position precluded this.

"Can you push your arms through the loop, and hang on?" cried Ralph now.

"No," was the discouraging reply, for Mark fully realised the fact that if he loosened his desperate hold for a moment he must fall.

"Haul up!" shouted Ralph. "Quick!"

The rope rattled and sc.r.a.ped again; and then, as Mark hung there, half-insensible, he heard what sounded like quarrelling.

"You shan't go, Master Ralph. Who's to meet Sir Morton if you get a fall trying to save a thing like that?"

Even in his half-insensible state Mark felt a quiver run through him; and then he lay listening again, as if to hear what was taking place about some one else.

"Silence!" came to his ear. "How dare you, sir! Now, all of you lower me down."

There was a rustling and sc.r.a.ping directly after, which seemed to last a long time, before something brushed against the listener, and he quivered, for he felt that he was going. Then there was a panting noise, which came up, as it were, out of the darkness, and he was clutched tightly, hot breath came upon his cheek, and a hoa.r.s.e voice yelled in his ear,--

"Got him! Haul up steadily!" and directly after, the voice became a whisper, which said,--