Launching himself over the brink of the precipice, the Ayuti began to make his way down to the ledge. Breathlessly his new friends watched his perilous progress. From crag to crag he swung, at times having the greatest difficulty in finding foothold. Once he slipped, and the watchers gasped and averted their eyes, seeing him in imagination hurtling into the raging sea below. But he recovered himself, and, with splendid perseverance, continued the descent. To the watchers it seemed an age ere he reached his goal and stood beside the unconscious American. Then a new difficulty arose, another predicament had to be faced. How was he to get Haverly up the face of the cliff? That he would need both hands free for his return journey was absolutely certain. For a few moments Chenobi stood, thinking out the best method by which to effect his purpose; then to his mind came a daring idea. Unloosing the girdle which confined his skin cloak at the waist, he bent down, passed it beneath Haverly’s belt, and rebuckled it. First testing both straps to satisfy himself that they were perfectly secure, he commenced to lift the American from the ledge. To any but one of his gigantic strength the attempt would have ended in failure, and probably a swift and terrible death. The ledge was very little over a foot in width, and it seemed utterly impossible for the Ayuti to raise the dead weight of the unconscious man. But now his magnificent strength revealed itself. His mighty muscles stood up like knotted ropes beneath the skin; his shoulders cracked again with the strain of his effort. Yet he accomplished his purpose; slowly he raised his senseless burden until he could stand once more upright on the ledge, with his back to the cliff, and with Haverly dangling before him at the end of the girdle. “What a man!” Seymour cried admiringly, as he watched eagerly for the Ayuti’s next move. “He’s a veritable Hercules!” “Never have I seen so fine a man!” Mervyn exclaimed. “What a noble race these people must have been! But, see, he is moving again.” Although their eyes ached with the glare, the watchers could not tear their gaze from the scene below. There was a fearful attraction about Chenobi’s heroic efforts. All natural law seemed to proclaim that what he was about to attempt was an impossibility. “He’ll never do it,” Wilson groaned, forgetting the pain of his wounded limb in his anxiety. “Haverly’s weight will drag him over as soon as he begins to climb.” “We shall see presently,” the baronet answered; “if anyone can do it he can.” Gripping the American by the waist with his left arm, Chenobi slipped the looped girdle about his own neck. Another pause of a few seconds, and then, relaxing his grip of the limp body, he took all the weight upon his neck. The strain must have been tremendous, yet he kept his balance; more, he commenced to turn round upon the ledge--thrusting Haverly behind him as he did so--until he stood facing the cliff, ready for his climb.