"Gosh, what a tumble!" ejaculated Peterson, when he could speak. "I told ye to be careful. This island is like a reg'lar honeycomb fer holes."
"Oh, my foot!" gasped Larry, as he tried to get up.
"That was a tumble and no mistake," said Dick. "What's the matter with your foot, Larry?"
"I don't know, excepting I must have sprained my ankle," was the answer. "Oh!" And Larry gave a loud groan.
Forgetful of their situation, Dick and the lumberman bent over Larry and helped him to get off his shoe and sock. His ankle was beginning to swell and turn red, and he had sprained it beyond a doubt.
The water was coming into the opening from the little stream overhead, and Dick readily procured a hatful of the fluid and the ankle was bathed with this. After this it was bound up, and Larry said it felt somewhat better.
"But I can't walk very far on it," he continued, and then added, with a sorry smile, "I am laid up, just as the Rocket is!"
"The question is, now we are down at the bottom of this hole, how are we going to get out?" said Dick to Peterson.
"We'll have to get out some way," was the unsatisfactory response.
"See, the water is coming in faster than ever."
The lumberman was right, the water had been running in a tiny stream not larger than a child's wrist; now it was pouring in steadily like a cataract. Soon the bottom of the hole had formed a pool several inches deep.