let go, as it seemed that he must do soon.

Nearer and nearer crept the line toward the ground, but it was
yet far above their heads. It was moving faster, however, as
Phil got more weight of rope through the loop, thus requiring
less effort on his part to send it along on its journey.

"Side pole! Side pole!" shouted the boy, barely making himself
heard above the shouts below.

At first they did not catch the meaning of his words.
Mr. Sparling, of course, was the first to do so.

"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