I drove with the word; dig went his feet and knees; he sprawled convulsively a moment; got hold; the mound jerked and sunk a little under him, a clatter of débris went down the cliff face, and he was in.
Almost in the same instant his face, hot and staring, re-emerged, and then his arms.
“Here,” he panted. “Can you reach?”
Not by a couple of feet could I.
“Hold tight and catch me,” I said. “I’m going to jump.”
Fixing my eyes on him, and crouching to the lowest I dared, I sprang, and he snatched and gripped my wrists.
“Now!” he gasped; and instantly the both of us were battling and struggling, he to hold me firm, and I to get way on and leverage.
For a minute the issue was doubtful; the mound sunk and crumbled still lower; I clawed frantically with my toes, my legs going like a frog’s on a slippery basin. But at last I got hold, and a little ease to my lungs; and so, hauling on to the hands held out to me, and wriggling up foot by foot, was drawn into the opening, now much enlarged, and crawling through, rolled, tangled up with Harry, down a slope into darkness.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SECRET IN THE HILL.
My first impression, as I sat up to gather my wits, was of awakening from a falling nightmare to the comfortable security of bed and early morning. The frantic fears engendered of that fathomless descent were all resolved in laughter. I giggled as I recalled them, shaking my dusty noddle to get the brains into place in it. Opposite me I could discern a shadowy figure, squatting in a like process of self-recovery.