And on they did go, running as fast as the trees and the darkness permitted. The land sloped slightly upward, but this they did not notice until Harry, who was slightly in advance, gave a cry of alarm. Then followed a crash of brushwood and a splash.
“Harry! Harry! what’s the matter?” asked Joe, and came to a halt.
No answer came back, and filled with added fear Joe crawled forward until he reached the brushwood. Then of a sudden he took a step backward. The brushwood was on the edge of a cliff and in front was a sheer descent of fully fifty feet.
“Harry went over that and most likely broke his neck,” was Joe’s first thought, and a shiver passed down his backbone. Then he remembered having heard a faint splash, and crawling forward on hands and knees, peered over the cliff into the darkness beneath.
At first he could see nothing. But then came a faint twinkling of stars as they were reflected in the surface of the water, and he knew that a pond or a stream lay at the bottom of the cliff.
“Harry! Harry!” he called out, first in an ordinary tone and then louder and louder. For the moment his own peril was forgotten in his alarm over the disappearance of his chum.
No answering cry came back, and again Joe shivered. What if his companion was drowned?
“I must get down to the bottom of the cliff,” he told himself. “And the sooner the better. Harry may not yet be dead.”
With extreme caution the young pioneer moved along the edge of the cliff, not leaving one footing until he was sure of the next. By this means he discovered something of a break, and here let himself down, foot by foot. The route was rough, and more than once he scratched his face and hands, but just then he gave no attention to the hurts.
Luckily for Joe there was at the foot of the cliff a small stretch of rocks and sand less than a yard wide. Standing on this the youth surveyed the surface of the dark water before him with interest.