He himself had stepped off, driving his toes
into a mere crevice alongside.
'Keep hold of the bayonet till I tell you to move,' came Roy's quiet
voice. 'Afraid we'll have to leave it where it is. We can't shift it
again. That's right.'
'Now get your fingers into that crack to the right. I'm going to move your
feet for you.'
What Roy was doing Ken could not tell, and he dared not look. But a moment
later he felt the big fellow's hands shifting his feet.
There came a sharp rattle of falling stones, a quick gasp.
A spasm of fright clutched him. For the moment he fully believed that Roy
had fallen.
'Roy! he cried sharply. 'Roy!'
'All right, old man. It's quite all right. Just a chunk of rock broken
out. The stuff's a bit rotten, but I've got good hand hold.'
A pause. Then, 'Now you can move.'
Again Roy's strong hands shifted his feet. Twice more this happened; then
just as he began to feel that he could stand the strain no longer, he
heard Roy's jolly laugh.
'We've done it.
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