"That's it! Oh, you idiots! You wooden Indians! You thick
heads!
Get a side pole, don't you understand?" and the owner made a dive
at the nearest man to him, whereat the fellow quickly
side-stepped
and started off on a run for the pole for which Phil had asked.
But, even then, some of the hands did not understand what he
could want of a side pole.
The instant it was brought Mr. Sparling snatched it from the
hands of the tentman. Raising the pole, assisted by the boss
canvasman, he was able to reach the loop. The iron spike in the
end of the pole was thrust through the loop, and by exerting
considerable pressure they were able to force the loop slowly
toward the ground.
"You'll have to hurry! I can't hang on much longer," cried
Phil weakly.
"We'll hurry, my lad. It won't be half a minute now," encouraged
Mr. Sparling. "Stand by here you blockheads, ready to fall on
that rope the minute it gets within reach. Three of you grab
hold of the coil end and pay it out gradually. Be careful.
Watch your business."
Three men sprang to do his bidding.
"Here comes the loop!"
Ready hands grasped the dangling rope.
The two strands were quickly carried together and the weight of a
dozen men thrown on them, instantly relieving the strain on Phil
Forrest's body.
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