From the elevation of the cliff Mark could get a good view of the valley stretching out in the direction of Caracas and could even see some of the white buildings in the distance. Then the youth walked along the cliff to where there was a turn, around a series of rough rocks.
There had been a heavy dew on the mountain the night before and in the shady spots this had not yet dried off. As he made the turn his foot trod in some moisture and slipped, and down he went on his knee. He tried to save himself by clutching at some vines but these gave way and over the cliff he plunged on to some loose rocks below.
Fortunately for Mark, the fall was not a deep one or some bones might have been broken. The loose stones and earth gave way beneath his weight and allowed him to slide swiftly under the cliff into a long and narrow hollow. Here he went with a splash into some water up to his knees and some of the dirt and stones came after him, sending the moisture all over him.
Mark was so surprised at the turn of affairs that for the moment he stood perfectly still, panting for breath. It was dark around him, the only light coming from the opening above, which was fully a dozen feet over his head. In front of him was the rocky cliff raising itself in a curve over his head. Behind him was the wall of dirt. The split, if such it may be called, extended a dozen feet in one direction and out of sight in the other.
“Now I’m in a pickle and no mistake,” he muttered, dismally. “How in the world am I going to get out of this hole?”
The question could not be answered at once and Mark waited until he had got back some of his breath. Then he started to move off in the direction in which the split led.
He soon found that he was on an uncertain footing, for he had progressed less than a dozen feet when he began to sink into the pasty ooze of which the bottom of the opening was composed. The water was above his knees here and growing deeper.
“No use trying in that direction,” he told himself. “If there was an opening the water wouldn’t stand there like that. It’s a regular pocket and if I’m not careful I’ll plaster myself so fast that I’ll never get out.”
He thought to cry for help but then realized that his friends were a good distance off and that even if they heard him they would not know exactly how to reach the opening.
“I must help myself,” he murmured. “Surely I ought to be able to climb that wall of dirt somehow. Wonder if my pocketknife won’t help me?”