CHAPTER XV
PIECES OF EIGHT—RALESTONES' FATE!
Through the dull roaring which filled his ears Val heard a sharp call:
"Val! Val, where are you? Val!"
He stared up into utter blackness.
"Val!"
"Here, Ricky!" But that thin thread of a whisper surely didn't belong to him. He tried again and achieved a sort of croak. Something moved behind him and there was an answering rattle of falling clods.
"Val, I'm afraid to move," her voice wavered unsteadily. "It seems to be falling yet. Where are you?"
The boy tried to investigate, only to find himself more securely fastened than if he had been scientifically bound. And now that the mists had cleared from him, his spine and back felt a sharp pain to which he was no stranger. From his breast-bone down he was held as if in a vise.
"Are you hurt, Ricky?" He formed the words slowly. Every breath he drew thrust a red-hot knife between his ribs. He turned his head toward her, pillowing his cheek on the gritty clay.