"Oh, if only we don't find the poor fellow dead!" murmured Dave.
Further on the rocks were very rough, and then came a cleft leading into a small cavern. The entrance was dark and partly covered with brush.
"See, the bushes are torn and broken," was Ben's comment. "Somebody has been walking in and out."
They gazed into the cavern, but for a few seconds could see nothing.
"Frank!" called out Dave. "Frank Bond!"
"Help!" came back, in a faint voice. "Help me!"
"He is here!" exclaimed Dave. "Has anybody a match so we can make a light?"
Buster Briggs had some matches, which he used for his bicycle lamp, and with one of these the four boys set fire to some dry brushwood they pulled up. The glare from the flames lit up the interior of the cavern, and they gazed inside, to behold poor Frank Bond lying in a corner on some leaves. The young student was utterly exhausted and lay with his eyes closed.
"Frank, are you hurt?" asked Dave, bending over him. "I mean, are you hurt very badly?"