As Harry sat there, his head still aching, his mind went back to Joe.
“I suppose he thinks I am dead,” was his dismal thought.
Slowly the time wore away and Harry sat in something of a doze, too weak to either move or speculate upon his condition, very much as one does who is recovering from a long spell of sickness.
Thus the night wore away and morning came to view outside, with clear warm sunshine and singing birds. But in the cavern the darkness remained as great as before.
At last Harry felt that he must do something for himself. He was beginning to grow hungry, and he knew that many hours had passed since he had taken the plunge into the stream.
“I must see if I can’t follow the river back to where it ran under the rocks,” was what he told himself. “That ought o bring me back to the cliff, and perhaps I’ll find Joe looking for me.”
With extreme caution he felt of the water, to find in what direction it was flowing, and then essayed to follow the stream up its course between the rocks and along the sandy beach.
It was a difficult task, and more than once he had to stop to get back his strength. At certain points he had to climb rocks which were sharp and slippery, and twice he fell into the stream and pulled himself out only with much labor.
And then came the bitterest moment of all, when he reached a point where the beach came to an end and found that the opening further up the stream was completely filled with water, which roared onward, dashing the spray in all directions. Here Harry could see a faint gleam of daylight, but only sufficient to show him how completely he was a prisoner.
“I can’t get through that,” he muttered. “If I try it I’ll surely be drowned.”