"Oh, pshaw!" muttered Phil. "That was a clumsy throw. I would
make just about as good a cowboy as I am a billposters.
Well, here goes for another try."
He put all his strength into the throw this time.
The rope sped true, dropping as neatly over the peak of the
cupola as if the thrower had been standing directly over
the projection.
A cheer rose from the men below.
It died on their lips.
"He's falling!" they cried with one voice.
The farmers stood gaping. But Billy, with the quick instincts of
a showman, darted beneath the plank hoping to catch and break the
lad's fall.
Phil had leaned too far backward in making his cast. He had lost
his balance and toppled over. Here his training in aerial work
served him in good stead. As he felt himself going he turned
quickly facing toward the outer end of the plank.
Like a flash both hands shot out. They closed about the end of
the plank by a desperately narrow margin.
The plank bent until it seemed as if it must snap under
his weight. Then it shot upward, carrying the boy with
it, he kicking his feet together as he was lifted and
laughing out of pure bravado.
Phil knew he was safe now. The drop had tested the plank, so
that there was now slight danger of its breaking.
On the second rebound he swung himself to the upper side of it
and stood up.
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