"Boss!" Northy cried out, seeing that he was nearing. They had five men on the rope now, but it was slipping and slipping, blooding their hands with its hot friction.
Then, it gave a slip even harder than the rest. A quick jerk, taking the skin off more than a couple of hands. Northy roared his dismay, but kept gripping. He was the only one. In their pain, the others let go. Northy's resistance wasn't anywhere near enough. The mule too, by now, was completely out of the fight. It lay in a collapsed heap, a mere extra package of meat attached to a mighty wooden torture device, intent on dragging it to its grave.
The wagon completely left the trail, everything that wasn't fastened down slipping out of the thing along with it. The rope rushed around the tree, every second a little less of was left to use, and every second, the wagon was heading to the bottom, about to drag the exhausted mule down with it.
And then, Vol was there.
