“Què—què——” he stammered. “Wha—what—was it, Mark?”
I told him, and soon had him sitting up, his back propped against a rock. The cut on his chin was not deep, and presently the flow of blood stopped and he shook himself.
“It was a narrow escape,” he said. “I warned you we must get out into the open.”
“We’ll be more careful in the future,” I replied. And then I pointed to an opening in the gully. “See, there is a cave. Let us get into that while the storm lasts.”
“Let us see if it is safe first. There may be snakes within,” returned Alano.
With caution we approached the entrance to the cave, which appeared to be several yards deep. Trailing vines partly hid the opening; and, thrusting these aside, we took sticks, lit a bit of candle I carried, and examined the interior. Evidently some wild animal had once had its home there, but the cave was now tenantless, and we proceeded to make ourselves at home.
“We’ll light a fire and dry our clothing,” suggested Alano. “And if the rain continues we can stay here all night.”
“We might as well stay. To tramp through the wet grass and brush would be almost as bad as to have it rain—we would be soaked from our waists down.”
“Then we’ll gather wood and stay,” said he.