The tremendous mountain of ebony rock appeared to have
been driven up out of the earth during some volcanic disturbance, and as
we stumbled blindly along we thought it would be easier to scale the
outside wall of a New York skyscraper than the slippery sides of the
obstruction in our path.
It was Holman who found a key to the situation. The big clump of maupei,
or Pacific chestnut, that we had taken as a landmark when we were
running through the moonlit night, grew close to the barrier, and the
limbs of several of the trees scraped the sides of the basalt columns as
the faint night breeze moved them backward and forward.
"There's a ledge up there," whispered the youngster. "Look! It's about
fifty feet from the ground. If we could climb a tree we might be able to
reach it from one of the limbs."
He had hardly outlined the proposition before we were swarming up the
trunk, Holman in the lead by right of discovery, and the nimble Kaipi in
the rear. Higher and higher the youngster climbed into the thick green
foliage. He reached the topmost branches, and selecting one that led
toward the rocky wall, he straddled it and worked his way slowly
forward.
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