emed that he must give up
in despair, that all the danger and toil he had gone through were for
nothing. Then an idea came to him, and he went through his pockets with
feverish haste, and found what he sought--a ten-penny nail.

But for that nail, put in his pocket he knew not when or why, he would
have had to make another trip over the cable and back. Thrusting the
nail through the looped head of the key, he at last had a grip, and in
no time the key was out.

Then came punching and prying with the iron bar to get the wheel itself
free from where it was jammed by the cable against the side of the
block. After that Jerry replaced the wheel, and by means of the rope,
heaved up on the car till the trolley once more rested properly on the
cable.

All this took time. More than an hour and a half had elapsed since his
arrival at the empty car. And now, for the first time, he dropped out of
his saddle and down into the car. He removed the detaining ropes, and
the trolley-wheels began slowly to revolve. The car was moving, and he
knew that somewhere beyond, although he could not see, the car of
Spillane was likewise moving, and in the opposite direction.

There was no need for a brake, for his weight sufficiently
counterbalanced the weight in the other car; and soon he saw the cliff
rising out of the cloud depths and the old familiar drum going round and
round.

Jerry climbed out and made the car securely fast. He did it deliberately
and carefully, and then, quite unhero-like, he sank down by the drum,
regardless of the pelting storm, and burst out sobbing.

There were many reasons why he sobbed--partly from the pain of his
hands, which was excruciating; partly from exhaustion; partly from
relief and release from the nerve-tension he had been under for so long;
and in a large measure from thankfulness that the man and woman were
saved.

They were not there to thank him; but somewhere beyond that howling,
storm-driven gulf he knew they were hurrying over the trail toward the
Clover Leaf.

Jerry staggered to the cabin, and his hand left the white knob red with
blood as he opened the door, but he took no notice of it.

He was too proudly contented with himself, for he was certain that he
had done well, and he was honest enough to admit to himself that he had
done well. But a small regret arose and persisted in his thoughts--if
his father had only been there to see!

CHRIS FARRINGTON: ABLE SEAMAN

"If you va