The Furnace of Gold

  CHAPTER III

  A RESCUE

  Beth had uttered that one cry only, as man and horse careened above thepit. She now sat dumbly staring where the two had disappeared.Nothing could she see of Van or his pony. A chill of horror attackedher, there in the blaze of the sun. It was not, even then, so much ofherself and Elsa she was thinking--two helpless women, lost in thisplace of terrible silence; she was smitten by the fate of their guide.

  Van, for his part, looked about as best he might, observing hissituation comprehensively. He was safe for the moment. The ledgewhereon he was bearing a portion of his weight was narrow and crumblingwith old disintegration. The shrub to which he clung was as tough aswire cable, and had once been stoutly rooted in the crevice. Now,however, its hold had been weakened by the heavy strain upon it, andyet he must continue to trust a part of his weight to its branches.There was nothing, positively nothing, by which he could hope to climbto the trail up above.

  He deliberately rested and fostered his breath, not a trifle of whichhad been jolted in violence from his body. Presently he raised hisvoice and called out, as cheerfully as possible:

  "Ship ahoy! Hullo--Miss Laughing Water!"

  For a moment there was no response. Beth was to utterly overcome tospeak. She hardly dared believe it was his call she heard, issuing upfrom the tomb. She feared that her hope, her frantic imagination, herwish to have it so, had conjured up a voice that had no genuineexistence. Her lips moved, but made no audible sound. She trembledviolently. Van called again, with more of his natural power.

  "Hullo! Hullo! Miss Beth--are you up there on the trail?"

  "Oh, yes! Oh! what shall I do?" cried Beth in a sudden outburst ofrelief and pent-up emotions. "Tell me what to do!"

  Van knew she was rather near at hand. The bridge and trail werecertainly no more than twenty-five feet above his head. He could makeher hear with little effort.

  "Brace up and keep your nerve," he instructed. "We're O.K. up to date.Just ride ahead till you come to the flat. Let Elsa hold your mare.Can you hear me plainly?"

  "Oh! yes--yes--then what next?" replied the worried girl.

  Van resumed calmly: "You'll find a rawhide rope on Elsa's saddle. Comeback with that, on foot. Then I'll tell you what to do. Don't try tohurry; take your time, and don't worry." After a moment, as he got noreply, he added: "Have you started?"

  Beth had not budged her mare, for terror of what she must do. She wasfortifying all her resolution. She answered with genuine bravery:

  "Yes--I--I'll do what you say."

  She took up the reins. Her pale face was set, but she did not closeher eyes to cross the dizzying brink. The mare went forward--andElsa's bay resumed his patient tagging, up to and past the fatefulplace where a part of the shelf-edge, having been dislodged, had letVan's pony fall.

  For ten age-long minutes Van waited on his ledge, feeling thetreacherous, rotted stuff break silently away beneath his feet. Theshrub, too, was showing an earthy bit of root as it slowly butcertainly relinquished its hold on the substance which the crevice haddivided. The man could almost have calculated how many seconds theshelf and the shrub could sustain their living burden.

  Then Beth returned. She had left her maid with the horses; she heldthe lasso in her hand. To creep on foot along the granite bridge wastaxing the utmost of her courage. She could not ascertain preciselywhere it was that the horseman was waiting below. She was guided onlyby the broken ledge, where pony and all had disappeared. Therefore,she called to him weakly.

  "Mr. Van--Mr. Van--where are you?"

  Van's heart turned over in his breast.

  "Just below that split boulder in the trail," he answered cheerily."Go to that."

  A silence succeeded, then he heard, in tremulous accents:

  "I'm here--but how am I going to tie the rope?"

  Van answered distinctly, for much depended on precision.

  "Uncoil it first. On one end there's an eye that runs the loop. Openthe loop to a pretty good size and slip it over the smaller portion ofthe boulder. Then push it well down in the crevice, and pull it tight."

  He knew that the rope was far too short to loop the larger rock andreach his hands. He waited while he thought she might be working--asindeed she was--and presently added: "Got that done?"

  "Yes," she called. "Yes--but are you sure----"

  His hold was giving way. He answered crisply:

  "Now drop me the end. Don't wait!"

  His hold was giving way.]

  Beth had forgotten all danger to herself. She had ceased to tremble.She paid out the rope with commendable promptness.

  "Does it reach?" she cried. "Can you get it?"

  He could not. Though sufficiently long it was ten feet away, on hisright. His seconds were growing fearfully precious.

  "Just shift it over, more towards Elsa," he called, still calmly."Move it about ten feet."

  It began to approach him jerkily. It halted, then once more it moved.The shrub in his grasp gave out an inch, and was coming from itsanchorage. Then his fist was closed on the rope.

  "All right!" he called. "Let go--and stand aside!"

  "But--oh, if the rock shouldn't hold!" cried the girl. "Are you sureit won't pull over?"

  He was not at all certain of the boulder. This explained hisdirections, "stand aside!" If it came--it must not involve the girl.There was nothing for him but to trust to its weight against his own.He was strong. He began to come up, bracing a foot against thecrumbling wall, winding the rope around one of his legs--or his legaround the rope, and resting whensoever he could.

  Beth stood there, nearly as tense as the rope. Her brown eyes werefixed on the bedded boulder; her face was more gray than its bulk.

  At the edge, where the lasso impinged upon the granite, small particleswere breaking and falling ominously. Scarcely daring to breathe, asshe felt how the man was toiling up from the maw of the chasm, Bethcould not bear to look where he must come--if come he ever should.

  It seemed an eternity of waiting. At last, when new misgivings hadseized upon her heart, she heard his labored breathing. Even then shedid not turn. She feared to watch his efforts; she feared to break thespell. A minute later she heard his even voice.

  "It's a wonderful view--from down below."

  The glad, eager light in her eyes, which his eyes met from the brink,put strength in both his arms. He came up to safety in an outburst ofvigor that was nothing short of magnificent.

  "Oh!" said the girl, and she leaned against the wall in a sudden needfor support.

  "I really had no intention of--deserting like that," panted Van, with asmile that was just a trifle forced. "But it's so much easier to--dropinto a habit than it--ever is to get out."

  She made no reply, but remained where she was, weakly leaning againstthe wall and slowly regaining the strength she had lost at the momentof beholding him safe. She was not the fainting kind, but she washuman--womanly human.

  Van began immediately to release and re-coil the rope.

  "Too bad to throw away a pony like that," he resumed regretfully. "Ialways intended, if he died a Christian death, to have his hide tannedfor a rug."

  He was saying anything, no matter what, to dissipate the reactionarycollapse into which he feared the girl was falling.

  "Now then," he added, when the rope was well in hand, "we've wasted allthe time we can spare on a second-rate vaudeville performance. Comealong."