"I must confess, Roger, I don't like the looks of things," said Dave, gravely. "If Phil was all right, he'd surely answer us."
"I think so myself, Dave—unless he was only fooling us."
"I don't think he'd do that, under the circumstances. He'd know we would be greatly worried."
On walked the two chums, until they reached a point where the mountain stream came tumbling over some great rocks. Here they found Phil's fishing rod and also the string of fish he had caught.
"Gracious, Dave! Supposing some wild animal has carried him off!" ejaculated the senator's son.
Dave did not reply, for he knew not what to say. He advanced to the top of the rocks and peered over on the other side.
"There he is!" he shouted. "Phil! Phil! Are you hurt?" he called.
Only a faint moan came back, and scrambling up the rocks beside Dave, Roger saw the trouble. Phil had slipped from the rocks into the mountain torrent. In going down his legs had caught in an opening below, and there he was held, in water up to his knees, while the water from some rocks above was pouring in a steady stream over his left shoulder.
"Can't you get up, Phil?" asked Dave.
"Hel—help!" was the only answer, delivered in such a low tone that the boys on the rocks could scarcely hear it.