But he was able to help himself. Although he crashed once against the side of the bluff and set a bushel of gravel rattling down, in a moment he gained foothold on a ledge. There he stood, wavering until she paid off a little of the line. Then he dropped down to get his breath.
“Are you safe?” she shouted down to him.
“Sure! I can sit here all night.”
“You don’t want to, I suppose?” she asked.
“Not so’s you’d notice it. I guess I can get down after a fashion.”
“Hurt bad?”
“It’s my foot, mostly—right foot. I believe it’s sprained, or broken. It’s sort of in the way when I move about.”
“Your face looks as if that tree had combed it some,” commented Helen.
“Never mind,” replied the youth. “Beauty’s only skin deep, at best. And I’m not proud.”
She could not see him very well, for the sun had dropped so low that down where he lay the face of the bluff was in shadow.