“If he is down there, he must have a chance to get hold of the rope, or he can’t come up here,” was the reasonable conclusion of the lad, who passed it downward slowly and in perfect silence.

Fully a score of theories flitted through his head as he lay thus speculating upon the situation down below.  At one time he was sure that it was useless to attempt to help his friend in that style.  A half-dozen Apaches would not permit a single white to climb into safety immediately before their eyes, especially when they could cover him with their rifles if he should succeed in giving them the slip at the start.  Then it appeared anything but reasonable to suppose that the Indians would remain directly below him, waiting for their chance to try their fortune in the trapeze line again.  More likely they would scatter and hunt separately for the outlet which had permitted their intended victim to gain his safety.  They could expect to gain nothing by remaining, and they were too shrewd to do so.

When the matter presented itself in this shape, Fred was ready to call down to Mickey, instructing him to grasp the lasso, and ascend without further delay.  Too much precious time was being wasted.  Fortunately, however, before he acted upon this theory, enough doubts arose to prevent his carrying it out.

He had had enough experience with the rope to know how to gauge it very well, and he lowered it until the other end was within two or three feet of the bottom.  Having placed it thus within easy reach, he let it pass over his hand, holding it so delicately poised that the slightest disturbance was sure to be detected.  He was in the position of the fisherman who is angling for some plump piscatorial prize, which requires the most skillful kind of persuasion to induce him to nibble the hook.

For a half-hour nothing touched it, and then Fred fancied that he felt a slight jerk.  He made no response, but instantly became all attention and waited.  A second later the jerk was repeated so distinctly that there could be no mistake.  The lad gave it a twitch in reply, and then all remained still for a short time.  Suddenly the thong was snapped from his hand, and instantly became taut.

Fred applied his ear as before.  Yes; some one was climbing up the rope again.

CHAPTER IX.

Groping in darkness.

It is proper, at this point, to introduce some history of the movements of Mickey O’Rooney, after the separation between himself and his young friend.  The latter, it will be remembered, left him sleeping upon the Apache blanket, at the bottom of the cave, while he, the lad, went off in pursuit of the wolf, which came so near leading him to destruction, but which, in the end, conducted him to freedom and safety.

The Irishman slept for several hours longer, as soundly as if he lay in his own bed at home.  He was sorely in need of sleep, and, having convinced himself that there was no danger to be apprehended, he transferred all his anxiety over to his young friend while he sailed off into the land of dreams.  When he awoke and recalled where he was, he spoke to Fred; but, receiving no reply, supposed he was asleep, and passed his hand about in quest of him.  After groping several minutes in vacancy, he muttered: