A beautiful scene spread out before him. Low trees swayed between him and the river bank. On the opposite side was the long ledge of grass and bush-grown land and the sloping hills. North and south were the irregular lines of the shore, lighted by patches of sunlight that were moved quickly by the scurrying white clouds overhead.
“I can just see the Arabella,” said Allan, as Owen reached far out with the camera.
To stand firmly on the head of the rock proved to be no easy matter, by reason of the narrow space and the energy of the breeze. The difficulties Allan overcame successfully as he opened his camera and set his diaphragm and shutter. It was at the moment when, with the bulb in his hand, he was sighting the camera that a huge fragment of the weather-worn rock on which he stood crumbled away, carrying with it more than half of the tuft of grass on which he stood, and Allan, after a quick effort to preserve his balance on the narrowed support, fell with the crumbling stone and disappeared from the sight of his companions.
McConnell rushed closer to the edge of the bluff with a startled cry, but he could see nothing through the fringe of leaves in the treetops below. Owen caught McConnell and pulled him back, then himself started to find a way to the river bank. McConnell started in the opposite direction, and by chance it was he who first found an opening through which he could slide and tumble to the lower level of the shore.
Tearing his way through the bushes in the direction of the shaft of rock, McConnell peered about him for some sign of Allan. When he did not find him immediately, his terror increased.
Turning farther from the foot of the rock he found the camera lying in some bushes, apparently unhurt. Then, in a little open space, he found Allan, lying on his back, his face white and still.
“Oh, Allan!” was all McConnell could say, with his heart beating so hard. The thought that Allan might be dead, stupefied him.
At the sound of Owen making his way through the bushes, McConnell sprang up and cried, “Here he is!” The sight of McConnell’s quivering lips prepared Owen for what he saw in the little opening. They knelt down beside Allan, and Owen bent closely over him, lifting his head on his arm. “He is breathing!” cried Owen.
“Is he?” gasped McConnell; “I didn’t know.”
“Yes,” continued Owen, peering anxiously into Allan’s face; “perhaps he is only stunned. We must do something right away. If we only had some water!”