“Where are you?” he shouted; and again the sound of his voice brought a thrill of comfort to poor Nell.
“I am here; be careful, or you will fall down too,” she called back; then laughed hysterically because, even as she spoke, the man stumbled and floundered on the edge of the pocket, the torch dropped from his hand, and immediately went out.
“A nasty hole this, especially when you happen upon it unexpectedly,” the man said, in a breathless fashion, as by a great effort he just managed to save himself from rolling down the slope, and crashing upon poor Nell, who was beginning to pick herself up and estimate the number of her injuries.
“Give me your hand, then I will pull you up; but I don’t dare come lower for fear of losing my hold, and tumbling in upon you,” said the man, as, gripping the top with a firm hold, he stretched his other hand down to Nell.
She put her hand into his, wondering why it was his voice had such a familiar ring, then, by a great effort, she pulled herself up the steep side of the pocket.
“How comes it that you are wandering about in such a desolate place so late, and alone?” he asked, with so much reproachful sternness that Nell coloured hotly in distress and mortification.
“I could not help it. I have been to see a sick man at Goat’s Gulch, and I lost my way in returning to Camp’s Gulch depot; can you direct me, if you please?”
There was a thrill of indignation in her voice, for she was angry with him for presuming to lecture her on the impropriety of her conduct.
The man’s grasp of her hand suddenly tightened, and Nell saw that he was peering at her through the gloom.
“Who are you?” he asked, with a ring of anxiety in his tone.