middle of the stream.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'll have to go down and get it." He straightened up and stepped back
from the brink. "Fortunately it's still early.
We have plenty of time to get the job done before dark.
I'll have to go back to camp to fetch the rope and to get some help."
It was afternoon before they returned, panied by Boris, both his
trackers and two of the skinners. They brought with them four coils of
nylon rope.
Nicholas leaned out over the cliff and grunted with relief "Well, the
carcass is still down there. I had visions of it being washed away." He
supervised the trackers as they uncoiled the rope and laid it out down
the length of the clearing.
"We will need two coils of it to get down to the bottom he estimated
and joined them, painstakingly tying and checking the knot himself. Then
he plumbed the drop, lowering the end of the rope down the cliff until
it touch the surface of the water, and then hauling it back and
measuring it between the spread of his arms.
"Thirty fathoms. One hundred and eighty feet. I won't be able to climb
back that high," he told Boris. "You and your gang will have to haul me
back up."
He anchored the rope end with a bowline to the hole of one of the wiry
thorn trees. Then he again tested it meticulously, getting all four of
the trackers and skinners to heave on it with their combined weight.
"That should do it," he gave his opinion as he stripped to his shirt and
khaki shorts and pulled off his chukka boots. On the tip of the cliff he
leaned out backwards with the rope draped over his shoulder and the tail
brought back between his legs in the classic. absed style.
"Coming in on a wing and a prayerP he said, and jumped out backwards
into the chasm. He controlled his fall by allowing the rope to pay out
over his shoulder, braking with the turn over his thigh, swinging like a
pendulum and kicking himself off the rock wall with both feet. He went
down swiftly until his feet dangled into the rush of water, and the
current pushed him into a spin on the end of the rope. He was a few
yards short of the spur of rock on which the dead dik-dik lay, and he,
was forced to let himself drop into the river. With the end of the rope
held between his teeth he swam the last short distance with a furious
overarm crawl, just beating the current's attempt to sweep him away
downstream.
He dragged himself up on to the island and took a few moments to catch
his breath, before he could admire the beautiful little creature he had
killed. He felt the familiar melancholy and guilt as he stroked the
glossy hide and examined the perfect head with the extraordinary
proboscis. However, there was no time now for regrets, nor for the
searching of his hunter's conscience.
He trussed up the dik-dik, tying all four of its legs together securely,
then he stepped back and looked up. He could see Boris's face peering
down at him.
"Haul it up!" he shouted, and gave three yanks on the rope as the agreed
signal. The trackers were hidden from his view, but the slack in the
rope was taken up and then the dik-dik lifted clear of the island and
rose jerkily up the wall of the chasm. Nicholas watched it anxiously.
There was a moment when the rope seemed to snag when the carcass was
two-thirds of the way to the top, but then it freed itself and snaked on
up the cliff.
Eventually the dik-dik disappeared from his sight, and there was a long
delay until the rope end dropped back over the tip. Boris had been
sensible enough to weight it with a round stone the size of a man's
head, and he was hanging over the top of the cliff, watching its
progress and signalling to his men to control the descent.
When the end of the weighted line touched the surface of the water it
was just out of Nicholas's reach. From the top of the cliff Boris began
to swing the line until the end of it pendulumed close enough for
Nicholas to grab it.
With a bowline knot Nicholas tied a loop in the end of the line and
slipped it under his armpits. Then he looked up at Boris.
"Heave away!" he yelled, and tugged the dangling rope three times. The
slack tightened and then he was lifted off his feet. He began to ascend
in a series of spiralling jerks and heaves. As he rose, the belled wall
of the chasm arched in to meet him, until he could fend off from the
rock with his bare feet and stop himself spiralling at the end of the
rope. He was fifty feet from the top of the cliff when suddenly he
stopped abruptly, dangling helplessly against the rock face.
"What's going on?" he shouted up at Boris.
"Bloody rope has jammed," Boris yelled back. "Can you see where it is
stuck?"
Nicholas peered up and realized that the rope had rolled into a vertical
crack in the face, probably the same one that had almost stopped the
dik-dik reaching the top.
However, his own weight was almost five times that of the little
antelope, and had forced the rope much more deeply into the crack.
He was suspended high in the air, with a drop of almost a hundred feet
under him.
"Try and swing yourself loose! Boris shouted down at him. Obediently,
Nicholas kicked himself back and twisted on the rope to try and roll it
clear. He worked until the sweat streamed down into his eyes and the
rope had rubbed him raw under the arms.
"No use," he shouted back at Boris. "Try to haul it out with brute
force!
There was a pause, and then he saw the rope above the crack tighten like
a bar of iron as five strong men hauled on the top end with all their
strength. He could hear the trackers chanting their working chorus as
they threw all their combined weight on the line.
His end of the line did not budge. It was a solid jam, and he knew then
that they were not going to clear it. He looked down. The surface of the
water seemed much further than a hundred feet below.
"The terminal velocity of the human body is one hundred and fifty miles
an hour," he reminded himself. At that speed the water would be like
concrete. "I won't be going that fast when I hit, will I? he tried to
reassure himself.
He looked up again. The men on the top of the cliff were still hauling
with all their weight and strength. At that moment one of the strands of
the nylon rope sheared against the cutting edge of the rock crack, and
began to uncurl like a long green worm.
"Stop pulling!" Nicholas screamed. "Vast heaving!" But Boris was no
longer in sight. He was helping his trackers, adding his weight to the
pull.
The second strand of the rope parted and unravelled.
There was only a single strand holding him now.
It was going to go at any moment, he realized. "Boris, you ham-fisted
bastard, stop pulling!" But his voice never reached the Russian, and
with a pop like a champagne cork the third and final strand of the rope
parted.
He plunged downwards, with the loose end of the severed rope fluttering
above his head. Flinging both arms straight upwards over his head to
stabilize his flight, he straightened his legs, arrowing his body to hit
feet first.
He thought about the island under him. Would he miss its red rock fangs
or would he smash into it and shatter every bone in his lower body? He
dared not look down to judge it in case he destabilized - his fall and
tumbled in midair. If he hit the water flat it would crush his ribs or
snap his spine.
His guts seemed to be forced into his throat by the speed of his fall,
and he drew one last breath as he hit the surface feet first. The force