Chapter XXV: Taking Chances

The bird had fallen in such a position that it lay out on the very edge of the hollow, thus making Artie’s descent less precarious.

Westy helped him over until Artie’s feet pointed directly to the center. Letting himself slowly down, he landed finally with a thump, safe and sound. Taking a cautious view of his present situation, he thought it looked like a box seat in a theater, the precipice forming a protective roof overhead. One of even medium stature could not stand upright in this haven of rock, so sequestered from all the world.

“Hey, Art, make it snappy, will you?” called Westy impatiently. “This isn’t the time to dream!”

Artie leaned forward and touched the inert bird with his finger. It did not move. He repeated the action to make sure. Then, he lifted it slowly, gently, and ever so cautiously with both hands, but was convinced that he had nothing whatsoever to fear from that source.

His next move was to lift the bird high enough so that Westy (who was hanging perilously over the edge with outstretched hands) could grasp it. To do this, it was necessary for him to step out on the tip-end of the ledge, where there was a slight eminence. From there he thought he could reach up to Westy’s dangling fingers without having to release his hold on the helpless bird at all.

Artie realized as he pondered over the wisdom of this, that one misstep meant--eternity. Holding his breath and with a firm resolve not to look out nor down, he concentrated his mind solely on his two feet. He quickly mounted the jagged edge, clasping the bird tight with both hands.

“All set?” he cried to Westy excitedly. “You’ll have to grab it quick for I won’t be able to keep my balance for long.”

“Righto!” answered Westy, sensing the peril of both, but putting all of his courage in each of his hands, he leaned as far over as he possibly could, without throwing himself over altogether.

They both reached, but, alas, came about within three inches of making it.

“I can’t, Wes, it’s no use,” Artie cried, “it just can’t be done!” He was feeling sick now from the suspense.

“Could you just throw it easy, Art? Try it! I won’t miss it and this little distance won’t hurt it any more than it has been hurt!”

“Sure--anything, so long as I get off from here.”

Artie tried to steady himself once more. Then as lightly as possible he tossed it to Westy, who caught it, surprisingly gentle.

Seeing Westy slowly but surely drawing himself back again upon terra firma, Artie, with a dizziness amounting almost to nausea, stepped down from that Pinnacle of Destiny and into safety.

Unashamed, he wiped the perspiration from off his face and sat down in the hollow a minute to regain his composure.

“Well!” he called to Westy. “I’m down, but how am I going to get out?”

“What were you saying, Art?” Westy shouted from above.

Artie repeated his question.

“Why you can get out the same way as you got in, can’t you?”

“Not so’s you can notice it!”

“Why not?”

“Why? Just because there isn’t a place for me to get a foothold on the whole darn precipice; it’s just as smooth as glass.”