Without an instant's delay
Hugh put his foot in the bucket and signed to the Chinee to lower
him. Swiftly and silently he descended the well, jumped out of
the bucket, and grabbed the floating body of the drunkard with one
hand, holding on to the rope with the other. The man had collapsed,
and was as limp as a rag. Hugh made the rope fast under his armpits,
and gave the old mining cry, "On top there, haul away."
Heavily the windlass creaked. Mightily the Chinee strained. The
unconscious figure was drawn out of the water and up the shaft,
inch by inch. The weight of a man in wet clothes is considerably
more than that of a bucket of water, and it seemed a certainty that
either the old windlass would break or the Chinaman's arms give
out. Slowly, slowly, the limp wet figure ascended the shaft, while
Hugh supported himself in the water, by gripping the logs at the
side of the well, praying that the tackle would hold. The creaking
of the windlass ceased, and the ascending body stopped--evidently
the Chinee was pausing to get his breath.
"Go on!" screamed Hugh. "Keep at it, John! Don't let it beat you!
Wind away!"
Faintly came the gasped reply, "No can! No more can do!"
He lowered himself in the water as far as he could, to deaden
the blow in case of the fellow falling back on him, and screamed
encouragement, threats, and promises up the well.
Pages:
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237