Trailing over the side
of the airship deck was a piece of rope, that had become loosed.
And, in his fall, Grit had caught hold of this in his strong jaws.
To this he clung like grim death, his grip alone keeping him from
falling into space.
CHAPTER XXV
A FORCED LANDING
"Hold on there, old boy! Don't let go!" begged Dick of his pet,
who swung to and fro, dangling like some grotesque pendulum over
the side of the airship. "Hold on, Grit!"
And Grit held on, you may be sure of that. His jaws were made for
just that purpose. The dog made queer gurgling noises in his
throat, for he dare not open his mouth to bark. Probably he knew
just what sort of death would await him if he dropped into the vast
space below him.
"How we going to get him up?" asked Larry.
"I'll show you!" cried Dick, as he stretched out at full length on
the deck, and made his way to the edge where his head and shoulders
projected over the dizzying space. The airship was still rushing
on.
"Grab his legs--somebody!" exclaimed Paul. "I'll sit on you, Dick!"
"That's right! Anchor me down, old man!" Dick cried. "I'm going
to get Grit!"
"Are you going to make a landing to save him?" asked Larry.
"No, though I would if I had to," Dick replied. "I'm just going to
haul him up by the rope. Keep a good hold, old boy!" he encouraged
his pet, and Grit gurgled his answer.
And then Dick, leaning over the edge of the deck, while Paul sat on
his backward-stretched legs to hold him in place, hauled up the
bulldog hand over hand, by means of the rope the intelligent animal
had so fortunately grasped.
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