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. He opened his eyes for one brief, daring glance upward. Not more than five or six steps to go. Gritting his teeth he went on. Now only four more ledges to grip, four more footholds to find. A second stone whizzed past his head and struck with a crash beyond him. He heard it whistle, he felt the rush of air. "God! If that had got my head! What an inhuman devil he is! The dirty beast!" The fourth stone caught him in the side after glancing off the wall to his left. He groaned aloud, but gripped more fiercely than ever at his slender support. For a few seconds he could not move. Then he reached up and felt for the next "cleat." He found it but, like many others he had encountered, it was filled with sand and dirt. That meant delay. He would have to dig it out with his fingers before risking his grip on the edge. Fast and feverishly he worked. Another stone struck below his feet. "Hey!" he yelled. "Let up on that! Do you want to kill me? Cut it out! I can't get away, you damned fool! You've got me cornered." His voice was high and shrill. The answer was another stone which grazed his leg. A moment later he reached over and felt along the floor of the cave for the final hold. Finding it, he drew himself up over the edge and crawled, weak and half fainting, out of range of the devilish marksman. For a long time he lay still, gasping for breath. They had him cold! There was no use in trying to think of a way out of his difficulty. All he wanted now was to rest, a chance to pull himself together. After all was said and done, what were a few years in the penitentiary? He was young. Five years--even ten,--what were they at his time of life? He would be thirty-five, at the most forty, when he came out, and as fit as he was when he went in.