The watcher could not believe his eyes. And yet there could be no
mistake. Something WAS crawling up the sheer face of the cliff, a
bulging shadow dimly outlined against the starlit sky.
The man below went forward swiftly. Twice he stooped to search with
eager hands for something at his feet, but always with his gaze
fixed on the creeping shadow. He knew the creeper's goal: that
black streak in the wall above, rendered thin by foreshortening.
He knew the creeper!
Twenty or thirty paces short of the ladder he stopped. From that
spot he hurled his first rock. His was a young, powerful arm and
the missile sped upward as if shot from a catapult. It struck the
face of the cliff a short distance above the head of the climber
and glanced off to go hurtling down among the trees beyond.
Thane stopped as if paralysed. For one brief, horrible moment he
felt every vestige of strength deserting him, oozing out through
his tense, straining finger-tips. The shock had stunned him. He
moaned,--a little whimpering moan. He was about to fall! He could
hold on no longer with those weak, trembling hands. His brain
reeled. A great dizziness seized him. He clung frantically to the
face of the rock, making a desperate effort to regain his failing
senses. Suddenly his strength returned; he was stronger than ever.
A miracle had happened.
The mouth of the cave was not more than half a dozen feet above
him.
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