Man with No Name- Pole Vault

Everywhere but the point where the footholds had been gouged out and the iron pins driven was sheer rock, slanting slightly inward toward the base. At some time in the dim past the cliff where the fantastic door was attached had been only a point, jutting out from the main high ground that surrounded the canyon. Some ancient cataclysm, however, had wrenched it loose so that now it was separated from the main mass by a gap of several yards, leaving it literally an island in the sky.

  The hunter measured the gap with his eyes and swore under his breath. It was just narrow enough to be tantalizing, yet too broad to be jumped.
...

  Behind him lay the bodies of the two men who had been working the massive rock toward the rim of the cliff. The poles they had been using as levers lay where they had fallen from dead hands. He picked one up, hefted it, tested its strength and springiness, measured its length with his eye against the width of the gap above the abyss. It was obviously a few inches too short to serve as a bridge.

  He poised the pole, butt-end forward, then broke into a run. At the edge of the gap he rammed the butt end into a break in the rock and let the lighter end whip him up and over in an arc. He landed heavily on the far side of the gap. Still clinging to the pole, he dragged it in out of sight from below.

- A Coffin Full of Dollars, chapter 24