I picked up a piece of shale and threw it from me, listening for its fall, but no sound came, so I sat down with one leg over the depression and kicked with my heel to loosen a bit of the soil.
I was a couple of feet back, and as I kicked I felt the ground I sat upon quiver; then there was a loud rushing sound, and I threw myself down clinging with my hands, for a great piece of the edge right up to where I sat had given way and gone down, leaving me with my legs hanging over the edge, and but for my sudden effort I should have fallen.
“What was that?” cried a voice some distance above me.
“It is I, Uncle Bob,” I panted. “Come and help me.”
I heard a fierce drawing in of the breath, and then a low crawling sound, and little bits of stone seemed to be moved close by me.
“Where are you, boy?” came again.
“Here.”
“Can you crawl to me? I’m close by your head.”
“No,” I gasped. “If I move I’m afraid I shall fall.”
There was the same fierce drawing in of the breath, the crawling sound again, and a hand touched my face, passed round it, and took a tight hold of my collar.