"I reckon I can, Joe, if that tottering rock up there only holds off
long enough. Let's hope it will. Now, do just what I tell you; and
when I say pull, again, get busy for all you're worth!"
While Frank was talking he had been manipulating the foot of the
Mexican, who had worked so long on American ranches that he had lost
much of his national ways, though retaining a few of the
characteristics of dress that always distinguish his kind.
Frank himself was not wasting time. He did not like the looks of that
over-hanging rock any too well. It seemed to be about ready to crash
down, and when it did come the result would be disastrous to anything
human caught underneath; for it surely weighed many tons.
"Now, draw easily at first, and then increase gradually," Frank said.
"I'll hold onto the foot, and keep it in this position. I think that's
the way it first slipped into the crack!"
Spanish Joe eagerly obeyed. He groaned several times as he felt his
leg hurt, but desperation lent him new determination; for if this
attempt failed, as others had done, he believed that he was doomed.
Suddenly the foot came free. Joe fell over on the ground, but his last
groan turned into a cry of delight. It was almost comical to see how
quickly he rolled over several times, so as to get away from the danger
zone.
Frank, turning, clutched his companion, and also drew him back. It was
none too soon, it seemed.
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