He sprang back, and seized my wrists, just as my fingers began slipping on the smooth stone; but my weight was almost too much for him, and I came so near to dragging him through after me that the stone trap got past my head and jammed against my elbows.
Then I heard King yelling for the Mahatma to bring the lantern back, and after what seemed an interminable interval the Mahatma came and set one foot on the stone, so that it swung past my head again, nearly braining me in its descent.

I don't know whether he intended that or not.
"There is more in this than accident," he said, his voice booming hollow as he bent to let the light fall on me.

"Very well; pull up your buffalo, and you shall have him!" It was no easy task for the two of them to haul me up, because the moment the Mahatma removed his foot from the lid of the trap the thing swung upward and acted like the tongue of a buckle to keep me from coming through.

When he set his foot on it again, the other foot did not give him sufficient purchase.

Finally King managed to pull his loin-cloth off and pass it around under my armpits, after which the two together hauled me clear, minus in the aggregate about a half square foot of skin that I left on the edge of the stone.
Off the Mahatma went alone again, swinging his lantern, and apparently at peace with himself and the whole universe.
Thereafter, King and I walked arm-in-arm, thinking in that way to lessen the risk of further pitfalls.