But a scout must keep his head.
Help? Which way could help be found? The boys were scattered, McKenzie would not be in camp. Nobody knew when to expect Mr. Gordon.
Which way? Which way? Oh, yes, down over the drop of the cliff to the south yonder was the mountain wagon road by which their scouting party had ascended that afternoon. If he could get to the road he could find somebody somewhere—surely, there were a few inhabitants hereabouts!
That German was sending wireless messages right this minute—— Yes, the shortest way to the road was the only way for a fellow to take now! And Danny took it.
When he reached the cliff, spent and sore, a new difficulty presented itself. A sheer fifty-foot drop still separated him from the road. He crept along the edge searching for a footing by which to descend, and presently found one that looked possible. There were broken, shelving places here, and tufts of growing things down the face of the dizzy wall.
Danny began to climb down. But he found it harder than he had thought, and at times he was a mere human fly clinging to a rock wall.
A man was sitting over some sort of instrument.
Nearly down—only about fifteen feet more! But at that moment the human fly's hold crumbled under his clinging fingers, and he dropped. It ought not to have been a bad fall, but the trouble was a loosened rock followed, and came down on one arm as its owner lay prostrate on the ground.