They tried all the first aid measures they had ever heard of, but Captain Royal still remained unconscious. The cut on his head was not bleeding any more; his breathing was heavy, and the lads saw that it was no ordinary case of being rendered senseless by a blow on the head.
"A doctor is the only thing," declared Frank. "His lungs are clear of water, so he's all right in that respect. He must have struck his head when he was washed in among those rocks."
"Well, let's get busy then," said Biff, who was no laggard. "We had better get him to the hospital as quickly as we can."
They took turns carrying Captain Royal up the path that led to the top of the cliff. It was an arduous climb, and it was late in the afternoon before they finally reached the rocks above. Then they rested once more before starting the journey to the fisherman's cottage.
"Thank goodness, he has a car," said Joe. "He'll help us take him in to the city. We would never be able to carry him on the motorcycles."
"A queer end to our exploration trip," grunted Chet.
Puffing and panting, they carried the unconscious man on over the rocks until they came to the path leading down to the fisherman's cottage. There they rested again.
Finally, after a halting descent, they came to the cottage. Their friend, the fisherman, was fortunately at home. Accompanied by his wife, he came running out when the boys appeared in sight with their burden.
"First it's a prisoner and now it's a sick man!" he exclaimed, as he drew near. "I declare, you chaps seem to scare up more excitement than anybody that ever came to Honeycomb Caves."
"This is an old man who was living in one of the caves," explained Frank. "He fell off a cliff and hurt himself. Do you think you could help us get him to a doctor?"