As the struggle was resumed, the better training of Millet, who was hard
and spare, began to tell upon Huish, whose life of ease had not fitted
him for so arduous an encounter. His breath was drawn heavily, and at
rapid intervals; his grasp of his adversary was less firm; the big drops
stood upon his face, and a singing noise began to sound in his ears,
while the thought which made him feel infuriate seemed about to be
realised, and in imagination he saw himself humbled before his friend.
In fact, the latter nearly had him at his mercy as they now swayed to
and fro, and tightening his grasp with one hand, he suddenly lowered the
other, and catching Huish at a disadvantage, he would in another instant
have thrown him, when, maddened by desperation, Huish dashed himself
forward to forestall his antagonist's effort, Millet's heel caught in a
furze-bush, and the two men fell heavily against the rough fence.
There was a sharp crack made by the breaking wood, the rushing noise of
falling earth and stones, and the next moment Huish was clinging to the
rough stem of a bunch of golden broom, hanging at arm's length over the
gravel-pit, while from beneath him came up a dull, heavy thud as of some
fallen body.
Faint, sick, breathless, and ready to loose his hold, Huish clung there
in an agony of desperation for a few moments. The trees, the clouds
above him, seemed to be whirling round, and he closed his eyes
preparatory to falling in his turn.
Then came the reaction, and, how he afterwards hardly knew, he made two
or three desperate efforts to find rest for his feet, but only at first
to send down avalanche after avalanche of stones and earth. Then one
foot rested on a piece of old stump, and he was able to take some of the
strain off his arms, resting there panting, and with a strange creeping
sensation assailing his nerves as he thought that in a few minutes at
most he must fall.
He glanced down once, to see that the stones were some thirty or forty
feet below; and in his then position the height seemed dreadful, and
with a shudder he wrenched his gaze away and looked up, thinking now of
escape.
The stem he clung to was pretty strong, but the shrub was only rooted in
the gravelly side of the pit, and at any moment it might be torn out by
his weight. In fact, it seemed already to be giving way. But now his
breath came in less laboured fashion, and the power to act began to
return, the result being that he took in at a glance his situation, and,
stretching out one of his feet, he found for it a more secure
resting-place, one which enabled him to get hold of a stronger and
tougher shrub, and draw himself to where he could stand in comparative
safety, with the fence only some five feet above his hands.
Could he reach that, or must he descend?
He glanced down again.
Descent was impossible, for the side of the pit was eaten away by the
weather, and receded from him, so once more with a shudder he looked up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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