The boys talked in low tones. They were awed by the thought of what might have happened to Frank Hardy. In their ears still rang that last dreadful cry and they could still hear the crashing of rocks as their companion hurtled into the depths. Even now his mangled body might be lying in some subterranean pit from which it would be impossible to recover it. Joe shuddered.
They listened in vain for some faint cry. But there was nothing but the echoes of their own voices.
"We won't give up for a while yet," said Joe, with as much steadiness of voice as he could muster. "We'll search around every pit and hole we can find. I can't believe he was killed!"
Keeping close together, the lads slowly crossed the floor of the cave. When they reached an opening in the rocks they directed the beams of their three flashlights into the shadowy depths, thus gaining more radiance than had they been searching singly. Then they yelled and shouted.
There was no reply. The flashlights revealed only jagged walls of rock. There was no sign of Frank.
On to the next crevice. This, fortunately, was not deep, but although the lights revealed the bottom and although they played the triple beams along every inch of the floor of the subterranean ravine, there was no sight of a crumpled figure.
Patiently, they searched the cave, but at last they were forced to admit that they were at a standstill.
"Not much use going any farther just now," sighed Joe. "We need more light." He sat down moodily on a rock and buried his face in his hands.
"I wish we had never followed that fellow who was in the cave," said Chet. "Chances are, it has cost Frank his life."
"I'm not giving up hope yet," Joe declared. "There's a chance that he might have been knocked unconscious by his fall, and if we can only reach him in time we may be able to save him. But these flashlights aren't much help. We're just groping around in the dark."